Copycat
by Violentredroses
Summary: Jane is hunting a copycat killer in Small Heath. The cases are simple enough, but with an Irish Inspector only concerned about guns, the IRA stirring up trouble, a communist faction on the move, and an ambitious gang leader surrounding her, catching Jack's copycat won't be simple. TommyxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings in "Peaky Blinders". They all belong to Steven Knight and the other creators/writers of the show.**

* * *

"Rise and shine, Jane! Time to greet the day! Or afternoon, in your case."

Jane stirred from her sleep, the afternoon sun blinding her. Stuffing her face into the pillow, she groaned as Vivian marched around the room. Her body ached. She felt heavy and weak. It was times like these she regretted fighting. She groaned as she lifted herself into a sitting position. She stretched out her arms and legs, feeling the soreness in them. Last night must've been rougher than she remembered. Vivian fixed tea in the corner, most likely left there by Mrs. Phillips. Jane wasn't surprised by the sight either. The leggy, red-haired woman turned around and grinned at her.

"Ah, there's a face only a mother could love," Vivian jested. She came to the bed and handed her a cup of tea. "Fighting again last night?"

"I was," she said, sipping her tea. "He was a lot stronger than he looked."

She recalled the boy from last night. Standing in the middle of dozens of shouting men, Jane would've bet she'd knock him out with a single punch. However, he proved to be quite a formidable opponent. The boy got in a few good swings before Jane finally straddled him on the ground. She used her weight and height over to counteract the tall boy's lanky form. He left the ring far worse off than her. A purple bruise on her jaw line and a cut eyebrow, she figured her money was worth it.

"But you beat him, eh?" she asked.

"Of course," she said.

"Why do you fight, Jane? There are so many other things you're good at," Vivian said. She stood up from the bed and walked over to a box full of letters. "I mean, look at all these cases. You couldn't find a single one that interested you?"

"No," she answered, finishing her tea cup. "They're all boring."

Vivian sighed. She picked up one of the letters and opened it as Jane climbed out of bed. "Look at this one," she said, "Mrs. Winston says her husband has gone missing along with some of her heirlooms-"

"-Ran off with the maid; took the jewels with him to pay off loan sharks," Jane answered. She pulled off her nightdress and snapped on her undergarments. "That one is pretty obvious, I think."

Vivian opened up another letter, "Ah, Gemma Tildon says she found her cat dead in her backyard. Last time she saw him, she says, he was sitting on the front porch railing. She wants to know what you think-"

"-It was her father," she said. When Vivian stared bemused, she said, "Cat wandered off into the street and he ran it over. He put it in the backyard to make it seem natural." She slipped on a chemise and looked through her closet for a dress. "I don't see where's the mystery. Though, I suppose the tire tracks on his body raised some questions."

"James from Yorkshire says one of his mates went missing after a game of poker at-"

"-He was in debt and he wouldn't pay up," she picked out the silk lavender one.

"Mira writes that someone has stolen crates of rum and gin from her tavern. She doesn't know who's doing it."

"She lives on 34th?"

"She does."

"Montague Boys," she said. Taking out stockings from her drawer, she began rolling one up her leg. "They steal alcohol from local pubs and sell them overseas." Slipping on the other one, Jane clipped them to her garter belts. She grunted at Vivian, "These are all boring, Vivian! Boring, boring, boring!"

"Yoo hoo! Ms. Dawes? Are you decent?" a voice said from outside the door.

"Come in, Mrs. Phillips," Vivian said, opening the door.

Jane put on her dress and fixed it before Mrs. Phillips could see. The stout, old woman looked about the room and tsked. "You need to tidy up this room, Jane," she told her, setting down a tray of sandwiches and biscuits. "I don't know how you find anything in this mess."

"Neither do I," Vivian added.

"It's not a mess," Jane reasoned, "It's a collection, _Mum_."

Vivian snorted while Mrs. Phillips kissed her cheek. She examined the injury and frowned. "Oh dear," she said, "You were out in the rings again?"

"I was," she answered.

"I have some mugwort in my cabinet," she said, "It'll clear that right up."

Vivian chuckled, "Are you her mother or her landlady, Mrs. Phillips?"

"It isn't my fault she behaves like a child," she threw a look back at Jane who only grinned. "I'm only looking out for my only tenant."

"Because if I was ever beaten to death in the ring," Jane said, "Who would pay my rent?"

Vivian held back her laugh and picked up her hat. "Well, I'm heading off," Vivian said. She fixed her auburn curls and straightened her dress. "Mr. Specter is expecting me back at three o'clock before his meeting."

Jane sighed, "Vivian, when are you going to see that you can be more than just some slimy prat's secretary? You're an intelligent, clever woman. You should strive for something greater." Vivian paused for a moment. Jane saw the hope in her eyes. "You always wanted to be a doctor like your dad," Jane said, "Why not go for it? You're not too old. You could get into any university you wanted and become the best in whatever field you chose."

"How very modern of you to think," Vivian said. "Not all of us can be private detectives, Jane. Some of us have people to feed."

"James would be proud that his mother became a doctor," Jane said.

"Jane," she sighed, "Don't…" She made for the door, "Stop the fighting. Find a case."

"You can't just _find_ a case, Viv. It comes to you."

"Then let's hope one comes to you soon."

Jane finished dressing and started on her breakfast. She rifled through some of the letters at her armchair. Mrs. Phillips brought up more of them from the letterbox. Most of them were missing pets or stolen jewelry. She occasionally caught one that might be of interest but ended up solving it by the end of the letter. She wrote replies to most of them before dinner. Jane didn't understand why people didn't go to the police with their petty problems. The police might blunder through their cases, but they could at least get the job done. She died for something more challenging. The people who visited her during the day weren't much better.

' _I think my husband is cheating on me.'_ "He is."

' _My dad went missing and I don't know where he's gone.'_ "He left your family."

' _I met this wonderful bloke a few days ago and things got intimate between us. My friends say he ditched me, but I don't think that's true.'_ "It is and you're stupid for thinking otherwise."

She played Beethoven to keep her mind from the boredom, yet that failed. Mrs. Phillips assured her the rut would end soon. Murders and disappearances happen in London every day. One could even be happening as they spoke, she said. Jane was bound to find one soon. Jane wished that were true as she read Nietzsche. She couldn't have been any more bored before someone knocked on her door.

"Come in," she called from her armchair.

In walked a stocky man wearing a blue suit. From his well groomed hair and professional attire, she could tell he was an officer of some kind. She assumed policeman from the scuffed boots he wore. He nervously hung his hat in his hands, tapping his foot in place as he looked at her. He was a client with another problem.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes," he said, "My name's Anthony Moss. I'm a Sergeant over in Birmingham. I got it from a friend that you're the one to see about, um, difficult cases."

"How difficult?"

"Baffling."

"Have a seat, Sergeant Moss." He took a seat in front of her and gulped. "Drink?" she asked, standing up and making her way towards the liquor cabinet.

"Please," he nodded.

She poured him a scotch as she asked, "Tell me about your case, Sergeant."

"Before I begin, I want you to know I work in Small Heath. I don't know if you've ever heard of its reputation-"

"-I did hear some unsavory characters do live there." She handed him his drink and took up her own.

"They do," he said. He drained his drink in one shot. "So, it's not uncommon to see beatings, rapings, disappearances, robberies and murders. We even have a gang problem. There isn't much in Small Heath that surprises me, Ms. Dawes."

"Well, something must've if it's brought you here."

"Indeed. It's this string of murders that have been going on. We've found three different women found in back alleys around town. Their bodies cut open, parts of them missing, and no evidence to go on," he shuddered. "It's unnatural, Miss. Like I said, murder isn't new to me, but I've never seen anything like this. Alright, we sometimes find a prostitute who displeased a customer or didn't pay her pimp. But, it was never this terrible."

"If your town is so used to crime, haven't you considered that it could be one of the regular criminals?"

"No," he shook his head. "They don't do things like this. They might beat or cut people, but if they kill someone it's direct. This isn't direct. I even asked Tommy Shelby if he had an idea, but he said it had nothing to do with him or the Peaky Blinders."

"Peaky Blinders," she said nodding, "I've heard of them."

"Then you know they aren't insane. Whoever is doing this _is_ insane, Miss. We have no real leads. We aren't well equipped like other police stations. If I want any chance at stopping this, I need someone like you. The only links I can find is their profession and how he killed them. It reminds me of Jack the Ripper, but it can't be. That was ages ago. He'd be dead by now, wouldn't he?"

"He would," she said. "He definitely would."

A copycat lurking about in a slum? It was a perfect cure for boredom.


	2. Chapter 2

Places like Small Heath made for perfect hunting grounds. A large populace in an impoverished setting created a cesspool of crime and debauchery. Jane thought as she exited the train station, the benefits of such a place. The copycat can kill high-risk victims and nobody will bat an eye. Nobody cared about prostitutes. Despite the modern age, people still looked down on the "unfortunate women". These women weren't even women in some eyes. They were worthless and tossed aside like garbage. They were sinners, heathens, and tempters of the flesh. They "stole" husbands and "seduced" young men. They weren't worth worrying over. Nobody truly understood the hardships. Jane imagined after the war many jobs were scarce for women. The men had taken them all back, leaving a lot of single women jobless. Some managed-like Vivian-while others resorted to different professions. If one of these women turned up dead, it didn't surprise anyone. Yet, she doubted such gruesome killings went unnoticed. In small towns such as this one, people knew about everything.

The town certainly didn't hide its seedy charm. Covered by smog and smoke, she took in the muddy roads and brick houses. She noticed a pub on almost every street. Another reason people wouldn't care about a place like Small Heath. The wealthy and holy looked down on drunkards. Jane found the police station, but didn't enter just yet. She needed a room to stay in first. Vivian suggested she stay in London and ride the train into Birmingham. Jane refused. She and this killer will share the same hunting ground. He'll hunt his victims while she'll hunt him.

Walking around for a while, she stumbled onto a street titled 'Garrison Court'. At the end stood a tall building with the name 'The Garrison Tavern' painted across the top. A little vacancy sign hung from the door. She supposed she'd start there. Entering the tavern, she wasn't surprised by the amount of people there. They all noticed her walk in and she wasn't unnerved. A finely dressed woman holding two suitcases drew their attention right away. The bartender stared curiously along with them. A tall man with mouse-brown curls, he wiped down a glass as she approached the bar.

"Morning," she said, "I noticed your vacancy sign out front, and I was wondering how much?"

"Yo-You want to stay here?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded. "Why? Do you have mice or something?"

"No, it's just..." he paused, "We don't get your type in here a lot. You should try uptown or another pub."

"I can't go uptown," she said. "My work isn't up there. It's down here. So, I'd like a room, please."

"Your work?" he questioned. "Wh-What sort of work is that?"

She rifled through her purse and pulled out a little white card, "Jane Dawes, at your service."

"'Jane Dawes, Private Detective'," he snorted as he read. "A lady detective, eh? I've never seen one of those before."

"And now you have, Mr…?"

"Just call me Harry," he said. He stuck out a hand.

She shook it, "Harry. Can I have a room, please?"

He named his price and she paid him on the spot. "You're here about those murders, aren't you?" a voice asked from behind.

Jane turned around as a man was coming towards her. Lanky with black hair matching his scruffy beard, his dark eyes stared at her in amusement. She looked him over. He wasn't hard to read. Then again, perhaps he did that on purpose. He worked in the mechanical factory outside of town and lived alone. She missed challenging people.

"I am," she answered. "Sergeant Moss said there's been three already. I'm guessing everyone in this town knows already?"

"We do," he nodded. "Nobody's done anything to stop them though. The paper says there's no evidence other than the bodies."

"There's always evidence, sir," she said, "You just have to know where to look. Jane Dawes."

He smirked, "Freddie Thorne." They shook hands, "The police must be desperate if they need outside help. I thought they would just ask that Belfast inspector."

"Belfast inspector?" she asked. Moss never mentioned anyone else on the case. "He's here for that too?"

"No," Freddie shook his head. "He's here about some stolen property, I've heard. A friend of mine has a sister who works in the BSA telegraph office. She said the message came down from Winston Churchill himself."

"That's an awful lot of information you have," she said, "For a working class factory man."

He raised an eyebrow, "How would you know I work in a factory? I could be anything. I could be a carpenter, a dock worker or a fisherman-"

"-If you were a carpenter, you'd have calluses on your hands from wood work and rough gloves. If you were a dock worker, you'd smell like fish and not coal. Fisherman work most of the day, so you wouldn't be here in mid-afternoon. Considering the lack of other professions in this town, you work inthe mechanical factory. I can tell from the grease stains on your hands and trousers. Also there's only one big factory in town, which I assume deals in small arms and motorcycles, no?"

He stared at her for a moment, and then said, "Yes. It does. It's the Birmingham Small Arms factory. We make motorcycles, car parts, and small weapons. They make military weapons mostly. Lots of rumors and whispers go about in factories. If you know the right people, you can get whatever you need to know."

"Do you know the right people, Mr. Thorne?" she asked.

"I do," he said. "If you want to know about these murders, you should talk to Tommy Shelby. He's the crime prince around here. Nothing illegal happens in this town without him knowing."

"Would he protect such a person?" she doubted a man would let someone go around terrorizing women.

"Freddie…" Harry warned as he handed her a key, "Mr. Shelby doesn't have anything to do with that mess."

"I'm not saying he does," Freddie reasoned, "But he might have a clue or two. Tommy wasn't happy when the first murder popped up. It wouldn't surprise me if he already had men patrolling the streets at night."

"He doesn't trust the police then?"

Freddie laughed, along with those nearby, "No. No, Tommy doesn't like policemen too much. Neither do his brothers."

"I'll keep that in mind," she nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Thorne-"

"-Freddie," he corrected.

"Freddie," she said, "I'll be calling again on you soon."

"I wouldn't complain if you did."

She nodded at him and then walked up the stairs. The Garrison didn't have many rooms, but she assumed they weren't use for long-term use. She turned the key to Room Three and let herself inside. It wasn't a large room. It came with a toilet and small tub concealed by a curtain. The full bed sat in a corner and she even had a writing desk. It wasn't worst place she'd stayed. She liked it. She set her suitcases on the bed and walked towards the window. Her view was interesting. From her second-story window, she could see the entire street. She'd spot anyone coming from half-way down. She examined the people below. Everyone there was working class. Everyone from manual laborers to shopkeepers walked down the street. She even spotted a few drunks and beggars. Jane liked nobody else better.

Jane settled into her room before heading back out to the police station. She took in the feel of Small Heath. It was rough, smoky and bleak. It wasn't polished and well-kept like other neighborhoods. She certainly didn't catch any friendly vibes either. She noted the cinema and the other pubs around town. She took in street names and the directions she walked. Jane needed a map of Small Heath. Her copycat knew these streets well enough to kill undetected. She'd need the same knowledge.

The police station was larger than she anticipated. Men in black uniforms bustled around the office or sat at their desk with criminals they'd caught. A group of men in the holding cells eyed her from behind bars. The desk officer couldn't believe the sight of her either. She imagined only prostitutes and disappointed wives walked into the station. In her plum dress and matching cloche hat it must've been unusual for them.

"Excuse me, I'm Jane Dawes. I'm here to see Sergeant Moss," she said to him.

The young man nodded and flipped through a book. "Um, yes, Ms. Dawes," he said, "The-The Sergeant is expecting you. His office is right down that way."

"Thank you," she said.

She walked further into the bull pit towards the indicated office in the back. Through the windows, she saw Moss doing paper work at his desk. She knocked before opening the door. "Sergeant Moss?"

"Ms. Dawes," he said, eyes lighting up, "I'm so glad you could come!" He rounded his desk and shook her hand. "Please, sit down," he said, gesturing to a chair. Jane took a seat and crossed her legs. "I took the liberty of gathering up the reports and crime scene photos we took," he said, handing her files. "There isn't much to go on here," he told her, "But perhaps you'll find something we missed."

"Sergeant," she said, "I've recently heard that you have an inspector already here. He's from Belfast?"

Moss's pleasure faded. He nodded, rolling his pen with his fingers, "Yes. Yes, that would be Chief Inspector Campbell from Belfast. They brought him in on another case. It's about a robbery at the BSA factory. Someone stole a large shipment of guns bound for Libya, and he's come to retrieve them. I already asked him for his opinion, but he isn't interested."

"Well, I'm sure he's already preoccupied with his guns."

"He is," he said. "I've been helping him as is my duty. This," he motioned to the files, "Is sort of a side project for me. He doesn't even know I've called you in."

"It's your station," she said. "He shouldn't get a say in who you call."

"He's my superior," Moss stated. "Normally, I must run things by him until he leaves. I don't think he'd like that I brought you in on this case. It's supposed to be confidential."

Jane snorted, "It's not that confidential if the entire town knows about it."

"Well, I am hoping the more gruesome details stay confidential, Ms. Dawes," he said. "I've managed keeping a lot of it out of the papers for now. Things are bad enough with the factory strikes, IRA lurking about and now these guns."

"IRA?" she asked. "Irish Republic Army, you mean? You're having that problem here?"

"It's not much of a problem at the moment," he admitted. "There are rumors of them as well as the communists who live in Birmingham. But, they're only rumors for now."

"Communists and Irishmen," she said, "Small Heath seems to have more problems than imagined."

He sighed, "You don't even know half of it. Inspector Campbell is breathing down my men's necks to find these guns. He even brought in his own special force. They're like his personal army. I don't…" he paused, "I don't know what's become of my town, Ms. Dawes. Small Heath isn't the most welcoming or most wonderful of places, but it's my home. Now, it's terrorized by a madman and Special Police. I never dealt with anything like this before. I usually only had problems with the Peaky Blinders and the men they keep on their payroll. N-Now it's this too."

"There isn't much I can do about the Special Forces, Sergeant," she said, "But I will deal with your madman. I'll find him and I'll catch him. These women," she tapped the files, "Will see justice for what happened to them. I promise."

He smiled gratefully, "I-I just wanted to say, Ms. Dawes, that I'm glad you're here. Never in my life did I think I'd be relying on a woman to solve a case, but I'm glad I am now."

"So am I."


	3. Chapter 3

She walked back through the station with the files under her arm. Men still stared at her, but not in surprise. She noticed a few of them turn their heads as she passed them. Some offered her overly-friendly smiles and morning greetings. Jane groaned to herself. Why were men so distracted by beauty? She blamed society. Halfway through the station, somebody stopped her.

"Excuse me, miss," a thick Irish accent voiced, "You dropped this."

She turned to see an older gentleman holding one of the filed papers. Bushy mustache, derby hat in hand, and Irish accent told her this was the Chief Inspector. Jane gratefully took the paper from him. "Thank you, sir," she said. She made to leave but she felt he wouldn't let her.

"May I ask," he said, coming beside her, "What a woman like you is doing in this station?"

"I'm sorry? A woman like me?"

"A proper lady," he explained. "We usually get the tramps and the wives of these men here. Unless your husband is here?"

As she said, men were easily distracted. "I don't have a husband. If you must know, sir, I'm here because Sergeant Moss invited me."

"Invited you?" he looked towards Moss's office and then back to her. "You mean, _you're_ the detective?"

"I am."

He snorted, "That's adorable, miss. A lady playing detective."

"I'm not playing detective, sir," she said. "Are you always this rude to women you've just met?"

He coughed over his chuckle, "I'm sorry, miss. We don't see many lady detectives where I'm from. Chief Inspector Campbell," he held out a hand, "At your service, Ms…?"

"Dawes," she shook his hand, "Jane Dawes."

"Ms. Dawes," she felt disgusted by his wandering eyes. "What sort of investigation are you here for?"

"The man who's been butchering women in the streets," she said. "Moss believes I can help, so I am."

"Is he still on about those whores?" He sighed, "I told him it was best left alone."

"You told him to ignore a murderer who is taking innocent lives?"

"Innocent? I'm sorry, Ms. Dawes, but those women were far from innocent. This madman-whoever he is-will get bored with them and stop eventually."

"But until then women should stay in their homes and live in fear for their lives?"

"They should be doing it already from what I've seen," he said. "I suggest you do the same. He might stop killing whores and might move up the ladder to pretty ladies like you."

Jane stared at him curiously. Those were harsh words; uncalled for from a gentleman. She looked him up and down. There wasn't anything unusual about him; nothing she pinpointed right away. Then again, Copycat wouldn't be unusual. "I'm sure I'll be fine on my own, sir. Thank you for your concern. Good day."

"Would you like me to escort you out?" he asked. She saw the hope in his eyes.

"No. I'm sure I can find it even with my little lady brain."

She left him standing there and walked out of the police station. She couldn't believe the nerve of men. She didn't understand their need to degrade and then impress their target. Campbell hadn't been the first to laugh at her profession. A lot of them took her as a rich girl entertaining herself. Arnold thought the same whenever she brought it to his attention. Her older brother never took her seriously and neither did their father. Whenever she visited her parents with fresh bruises, he'd tell her ladies didn't fight. Her father said she should marry a good man and then have his children. She'd become a slave. She saw these other married women who become their husband's servants. They cook and clean all day. They watch over and care for the children. They work until their hands and feet are sore. Yet, their husband still expects a hot meal at night. Her mother said it was part of being a woman.

If that was so, Jane wanted no part in it.

She came back to The Garrison, placing her hat and purse on the bar. "Harry," she said, "A whiskey, please." She drew out her cigarette case and lit it between her painted lips. Harry poured her a whiskey which she downed in one shot. She took a drag of her cigarette and exhaled. She couldn't let herself become distracted. She opened the first case file. Her name was Mary-Anne and she'd been 32-years-old.

"Is that one of them?" Harry asked.

"It is," she said, "He mutilated her sex and chest." She pulled out a crime scene photo. "He hates women."

"I'm sorry? He hates women?" Harry asked. "What kind of man hates women?"

"Well, all of them do," she said, "But this one is special. He destroys what marks them as women." She noticed several things that she didn't say out loud. "I'll have to see the medical examiner."

Harry scoffed, "They don't have one."

"What?" she looked at him, "How can they not have one? Every station has an examiner. How do they know cause of death or find any evidence?

"They usually don't care if it's hard to guess," he said. He leaned in, "The Peaky Blinders are usually doing the murdering. 9 times out of 10 they're the ones who did it. It ain't hard to figure out a bullet to the head."

"Then do you know who they took the body…" she spotted a name, "Dr. Henry Lester? He's a local doctor?"

"Aye," Harry nodded. "He's the only good one in town. They go to him if they really have to."

"Do you know where he practices?" She took another puff of her cigarette and blew it sideways.

"Down on Kensington Road," he said. "You can find him there in the afternoon. He likes to drink, so he sleeps off his hangovers." Harry paused, tapping his fingers on the bar top "Ms. Dawes, can you-can you really stop this man?"

Jane met his eyes. It wasn't a condescending or amused question. He stared with concern. "I can. Why?"

"Because, well it's my little girl, you see," he began, "She didn't choose to be like them. After the war, finding decent work was hard. She told me she'd only do it for a while until she found some work. She hasn't yet. She's out there at night with the other girls, selling themselves to the highest bidder. I worry about her, Miss. What if..." he took a breath, "What if she ends up like them?"

"She won't. She should stay indoors for the time being. This man isn't going away anytime soon." She hated saying it. Campbell was right. These women can either stick together or stay home. They needed each other now more than ever. "Tell her to stay in groups or crowded places. Tell her not to go with anyone she doesn't know; stick to her regulars. I am going to find her, but it won't be today or tomorrow. This man's clever and clean. He's not easy." The difficulty was what Jane loved the most. She then said, "Harry, there's no shame in what your daughter is doing." She touched his hand, "She's only trying to survive. A lot of women are."

He nodded, "Thank you, Ms. Dawes. I do hope you catch him. Another whiskey then?"

"Please," she said. She returned to her papers before she felt someone beside her. She could smell the strong scent of booze coming from him. It sickened her.

"Hello there lovely," the man said.

He had a trimmed mustache and dark hair. He wore an expensive suit with a bow tie, and his boots were slightly scuffed. He wasn't drunk like the others. He didn't sway or slur his words. The scent merely lingered on him. Jane shut her file from him. "Morning," she said, "Can I help you?"

"You certainly can," he smirked. "I've been looking for the prettiest flower I can find, and I think I've found it."

Jane only laughed. "Is that the best you can do?" she gave a good minute or so and then said, "Please, go throw your petty lines at someone else. I have work to do."

"What work?" he said, affronted by her rejection. He glanced at the files, "What are you doing with those?"

"I don't think it's any of your business," she said. "Are all the men in this town rude or is that how they welcome people?" she asked Harry, who stifled back a laugh.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, and I don't really care to." _'But you're going to tell me anyways.'_

"I'm Arthur Shelby," he said. "Perhaps you've heard of me?"

"Not you," she said, "But I've heard that name thrown around a lot."

"Then you know we're not the kind of men you say 'no' to," he replied.

She then showed him a picture of Mary-Anne's corpse. It shocked him. "No, Mr. Shelby, _this_ is a man you don't say 'no' to. I don't care what gang you're in or what your last name is. You don't scare me." She put down the picture and said, "Now, if you're done, I'm going now." She gulped her drink and slid her money over to Harry.

"Who the hell do you think you are, woman?" he yelled after her.

"Jane Dawes," she answered, going up the stairs.

* * *

' _Mary-Anne Nichols, Elizabeth Eddowes, and Kelly Chapman.'_ Jane looked at the three photographs tacked to her wall. She lined up the crime scene photos right beneath each name and kept the files open on her desk. She linked the similarities and the differences in each case. All women had their throats cut twice, their abdomens split open and chests mutilated. One had her uterus removed, while another had a kidney and her uterus removed. He used the same knife for the incisions. There weren't any footprints or fingerprints on the bodies. He picked well-trafficked places that could destroy evidence. Copycat kills in the exact fashion as Jack the Ripper. The only tangent is the chest. She ran a hand through her hair. One thing concerned her: He was gaining confidence. Mary-Anne was his first, so her cuts are smaller and jagged. Elizabeth was his experiment with organs. Kelly is his fully-fledged motis operandi. The next woman will be the same or worse. An ignorant detective would've said they plan to catch him before he kills again. Jane wasn't ignorant. He killed them within weeks of each other. He won't slow down or wait. She won't catch him in time. She turned away from the desk and towards her window.

Night had fallen over Small Heath. The lanterns gave the road a glisten off the muddy puddles and shielded the stars above. Drunkards stumbled down the street, and girls tempted them at doorsteps. A group of men started their own fight club nearby. She preferred the roughness of this town over London's high society any day. She heard the commotion going on downstairs. If she wanted to find Copycat, she needed to be around people.

Dressing properly, she walked into the crowded pub. She saw Harry passing out drinks at the bar while other men filled the tables and stools. A few of them looked her way, but she ignored them. Getting a drink from the bar, she sat alone. Her eyes scanned over the crowd. Any one of them could be Copycat. He was an opportunist. He'd wait for the right girl to walk in and then follow her out. Unfortunately, a lot of men did just that. Despite the danger, these women needed work. They had to eat too. She picked out a scruffy man at the bar. From his shaky, grease-stained hands, he wasn't Copycat. She picked at another man nearby, who couldn't be Copycat due to openly kissing the woman in his lap. Copycat wouldn't let people see him with his victim.

"And there's our lady detective!" Arthur was drunk this time. He walked out of a private room beside the bar. Some people turned and listened to him. "She's come to save all the whores from the big bad wolf! Her! Right there! A little lady with nothing better to do!"

"Mr. Shelby," she said, "You're drunk."

He leaned against the bar, "And you're adorable. Your whole 'I'm-a-detective' game is cute, sweetheart. What are you going to do when you catch him, hm? Bat your pretty eyes and tell him-FUCK!"

Jane slammed her fist right into his jaw. She watched him clutch the bar and hold his cheek. "No, I'm going to do that! And then turn him in!" She looked about the room, "Do none of you care? Do none of you care that he's cutting women open like pigs? That he's slaughtering them? A town small like this one, surely you knew them." She turned to Arthur, "They weren't whores. They weren't tramps. They were people. They were human beings! They had people who loved them! People who cared about them! It's men like you that treat them like scum! Men like you who think their deaths are meaningless! Because they were 'only whores' to men like you. Now, I don't give a damn what any of you think of me or need your unwanted opinions! I'm here for one thing and one thing only! And I can assure you, Mr. Shelby, it's not you." She drew closer to him, "From what I hear, you Peaky Blinders run this place. People are afraid of you. People don't dare cross you. Nobody does anything illegal without your consent first. Yet, there's somebody going about killing people without your permission. There is someone in this town that isn't afraid of you. Are you telling me it doesn't bother you? A man with an ego like yours isn't bothered by that at all? That you don't care if he keeps on killing?"

"I care," a voice rang out. Everyone looked to the man at the front door. Leggy, dark-haired in a fine suit, he had sharp features and bright blue eyes. Jane looked at him and he looked back. "Come to 6 Watery Lane tomorrow morning. You and I can talk about this bothersome butcher together."

"Why? Who are you?"

"I'm Tommy Shelby."


	4. Chapter 4

Jane knocked on the door of #6 Watery Lane the next morning. Harry warned her about Tommy Shelby. He wasn't the kind of man she'd get away disputing with or punching. He wasn't like Arthur and she could tell that much. She'd seen the way the room suddenly stopped. It was as if even time slowed down for him. Nobody dared move in his presence. They didn't speak. They only watched him watching her. She saw the worry in their eyes. People thought he might explode in anger. They thought he'd defend his brother. He didn't. He barely acknowledged Arthur. She guessed he agreed with her.

A young woman answered the door. Her eyes widened at Jane, her smile bright and excited. From her light eyes and dark hair, she must've been their sister. "You're Jane Dawes," she stated.

"I am."

"I read all about you in the papers," she said. "I've read all your cases! I'm Ada Shelby. It's so good to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you too," Jane said.

"Please, come in," Ada said.

Ada led her inside and Jane looked around. They had a comfortable home surrounded by pictures and family heirlooms. Their furniture wasn't worn or in disrepair. It wasn't grand or spacious, but it was nice. The Shelbys lived better than those in their neighborhood. They made their money off the pockets of the poor. She imagined they never went hungry or cold at night. They weren't as wealthy as Jane's family, but they were rich compared to everyone else. Ada brought her into a dining area where she spotted large curtains on the wall. She assumed they put these as decoration. Jane knew better. They didn't want anyone finding the door to their gambling den.

"I never thought I'd actually be meeting you," Ada said. They sat down at the table, and she stared at Jane. "Nothing ever happens around here that's worth investigating. I couldn't believe when I heard you were coming. You're amazing."

"Not really," Jane said.

"You are! Like how you solved that string of robberies in Leeds. They used some kind of powder on the shopkeepers so they could rob them."

"It was a hallucinogen," she explained. "The police thought it was dust."

"See? You think of things they didn't bother looking into! Then there were those girls who'd been kidnapped and murdered in some sort of ritual? It sounded so scary."

"It wasn't when we found out their magic was a bunch of cheap tricks and science," she said.

"How do you do it?"

"Observation and deduction," she answered. "I take in something about someone and then deduce. Like I know you had toast and jam for breakfast by the little jaw spot on the corner of your mouth or how you didn't sleep here last night due to the hickey on your collarbone. You might want to cover that up."

Ada gasped softly and then lifted the neck of her dress. "Those don't sound so difficult." Another woman walked into the room, placing her handbag and hat on the table. She wore a high collar blouse and form-fitting skirt. Older than either of them, she kept her hair back with a jeweled hairpin. "Give her something else."

"You just came from a bakery. One of the nicer ones that are too expensive for you." Jane said, giving her one glance over. "You came specifically from the bakery on Kensington because they're the only one who puts cinnamon in their bread. You also have mud on your boots from the large puddle up the street. That hairpin you wear is specially made because I don't think they make hair pins with pointed edges on them, which tells me you use it for protection. Speaking of protection was that snub-nose in your handbag a gift or did you buy it yourself?"

The woman appeared impressed. "You are good."

"Thank you," she said.

"This is my Aunt Polly," Ada said. "Pol, this is Jane Dawes. She's a detective."

"So I've heard," She sat down at the table with them. She took out her cigarette case and match box. "You're here about those murders?"

"I am. I came hoping your nephew can give me some more insight into what's happening."

"We have nothing to do with what happened to those women," Polly said, narrowing her eyes. "We don't run our business that way."

"I know the Peaky Blinders aren't responsible," she said. "You're more direct."

"What makes you think Tommy knows anything then?"

"I have it on good authority that he's the law around here," she answered. "A psychopath is killing people on his streets and he hasn't done anything about it? I find that hard to believe. Hardly anyone has come forward with information and I think it's because they're telling Tommy."

Polly hesitated. "We have had people in and out of the office," she said, "But I don't know what for."

"I think he knows more than he says," she said. "I only want the truth, Ms. Gray. The truth is what is going to help the women who are still alive."

"I heard you punched Arthur last night," Ada said.

"He was being rude," she said. "I've been running into a lot of rude men lately. There must be something in the water."

Polly snorted, "It's because they don't like a woman who asserts herself so strongly. They're used to compliant women. They like women who know their place. Though, I've gotten the sense you don't care what they like."

"Because I don't," she said.

As she suspected, the doors behind the curtain opened and a man appeared. He told her Mr. Shelby was ready for her. Jane nodded at the two women and followed him into the betting shop. It was louder than the rest of the house. Men sat at tables counting bets and writing down names. Others came in throwing down their money for horses. She saw a man by the chalkboard writing down the odds for each horse as they came in. 'Kempton' was in white across the board. There were betting on horses.

The man led her into a small office to the side where Arthur and Tommy sat waiting. Arthur eyed her as she walked in, but ignored him. His bruise healed overnight, being only a small mark on his cheek. Tommy leaned against a sideboard with his arms crossed. He lit the cigarette between his lips and then took a drag from it. "Ms. Dawes," Tommy said, "I'm glad you could come. I've been waiting to talk to you."

"And I've been looking forward to talking with you," she said.

He gestured to a chair and poured her a drink. Jane turned the chair towards Tommy. He was the one she would talk with, not Arthur. Tommy handed her the drink. "I've never met anyone who makes an impression so quickly," he said, "All the coppers and men on my payroll say you definitely know how to assert yourself."

"You have to when you deal with difficult people," she said. She sipped her drink and said, "You see, Mr. Shelby, I've been stumbling around for answers since I first got here. I don't like stumbling. I only know the basic information that's in my files, but I need to know more. Most of the reports are sloppy, biased theories that don't help. One report says she was with a shabby-looking man, and another says he was richly dressed. There's no medical report because a proper examination wasn't done. The medical reports only state the obvious. There are dozens of people in the streets at night, yet nobody has come forward. I find that unbelieveably, don't you?"

"You think we know something about this?" Arthur asked.

"I know you do," she replied. She drank some more, and then said, "You're the boss around here. I don't imagine people will feel comfortable telling the police what they saw. They don't trust them to do their job. You, however, give them what they want. You come through for them. They'd go to you because they know you'd give them the kind of justice they want."

"If that was true, why haven't we caught him then?" Tommy said.

"Because you can't catch a ghost, Mr. Shelby."

Tommy's jaw clenched. "People have come to me."

"Tommy!"

"What did they say?" She finished her drink and set it down.

"They said exactly what you know. They say they saw Mary-Anne with a tall man in a dark coat the night she died," he said. "Kelly was with a man of the same description. Nobody's told me about Elizabeth, but I assume she serviced the same man. My men look about when they're out at night, but they haven't seen anything."

"They won't," she said. "He's not afraid anymore. He knows he can kill someone and get away quickly. The longer he is on the streets, the better he will be."

"He's developing?"

"Very quickly. He's already killed three women, and he'll kill more if he's not stopped. What else?"

"A girl I know told me about a customer who was rough with her," he said. "He hit her and called her a 'no-good, filthy whore'. She didn't know his name and she didn't see his face."

"When was this?"

"Before the murders started."

A breath caught in her throat. "What's her name?"

"Lizzie Stark," he answered. "You ought to talk to her about it. She wouldn't answer my questions." He then said, "I'm a businessman, Ms. Dawes. Business can't thrive if there's a lunatic out on the streets. It's why I asked you to come."

"I thought your business was horses?"

"It's one of them," he said. "We own The Garrison. A lot of men go there for the girls we pay to visit. The girls won't visit it now because of what's happening. If the girls aren't there, the men don't come."

"They come for the drinks."

"But stay for the women," he added. "The women convince them to spend more. They bring in more money. They give us a small portion of their earnings for protection."

Jane smirked, "And you're doing a _fabulous_ job."

"So you can see why they don't come," he said.

"At least he's not killing horses," she said, lighting her own cigarette now, "Then you'd really be in trouble."

He then said, "We've met before, you know."

"Sorry?"

"In France," he said. "I was a Sergeant Major at the time. I was reporting to my superior in his tent when you and some Colonel walked in."

Jane remembered Colonel Calloway. He was her father's old school friend and had hired her. Winston Churchill sent via a wire that German spies were posing as English soldiers and giving information. He said some of them even stayed in England, working in the low ranks of the government. Jane was hired to find them.

"You told him the Germans planned an attack, but that wasn't anything new to us. Then you said that they knew about our preparations and attack plans. You said the Germans over the wall knew where we were digging under them. They planned to meet us halfway and cut us off. They'd kill whoever was in the tunnel and then climb their way into our camp; kill us while we slept."

"It was true," she said. "I don't recall ever seeing you."

"I was against the wall, covered in mud and dirt. You didn't see me, but I saw you," he said. "I wondered how a woman ended up being an English spy? I never thought about it until I saw you. You wore this expensive dress with diamond earrings. You didn't look like a spy. I thought you were his wife at first until you said you'd been spying on them."

"Germans love ze' French girls, no?" she said in a mock French accent. She smoked her cigarette and then said, "Zey never suspected a woman of being a spy."

"I suppose not," he said. "My superior didn't believe you. He said there was no way a German would simply _tell_ a woman about it."

"Not when they're awake," she said normally. "I waited until they fell asleep before waltzing into their offices. A lot of them were surprisingly good lovers."

"I ended up in one of those tunnels," he said. His face became stony and his jaw clenched. "You were right."

"Of course I was," she answered. "I didn't enjoy working for them, but they paid well. I'm not very fond of government figures." She thought of Arnold's snide smile and instantly felt irritation.

"I didn't think you would be," he said. "It doesn't seem to be about praise or ambition for you. You don't think like them."

"I don't think like anyone," she added.

"I also heard you're something of a fighter," he told her. "I asked a man I have in London," he answered her questioning look. "He goes to the fighting clubs a lot. He told me about this woman that fights there. She's very good, he said, lightning fast and hits where it hurts most. Is that how you got that cut on your eyebrow?"

"It is. There are just some things make-up can't cover." She asked, exhaling cigarette smoke. "Have you beenlooking into me, Mr. Shelby?"

"A bit" he said. "The papers hardly say anything about you."

"My brother keeps it that way," she said. "Despite being a total twat, he does care for my privacy."

"Who is your brother?" Arthur asked.

"Arnold Dawes," Tommy said. "He's a government official who works closely with Winston Churchill."

"My father and Churchill attended university together," she told them. She watched him carefully. She never thought a cut-throat gangster would get so much on her. She didn't like it. Arnold would laugh at her for not doing the same. Ignoring the dislike burning within her, she said, "Give me Lizzie's address and I'll pay her a visit. Perhaps she knows more than she said." She stood up and fixed her hat on her head, "Anyone who comes to you about Copycat, send them to me."

"Why should we?" Arthur spat. "This is our city. Not yours."

"It's my case," she retorted. "Even if you two did put your heads together, you still wouldn't find him." She could find him. She will find him. She met Tommy's eyes, "Where does Lizzie live?"

"She lives on Terrance Street," he said, "4th house on the right."

"Thank you. Good day, gentlemen," she turned to leave but he came up beside her. "Let me walk you out?"

She looked at his face. She noticed the thin scar above his lip. By its thinness and faded color, she called it an old injury. She saw the long, curled lashes that blinked at her. Her mother would be envious of them. Generally speaking, Tommy Shelby was handsome. It didn't stop her from slightly disliking him. "Fine," she said.

Jane followed him out of the office. They stopped by the door when he said, "The coppers I pay say organs were missing. They said he slashed up their breasts and cut them open like pigs. Is that true?"

"It is. It's kept out of the papers for now."

"For now?"

"Everybody reads the newspapers, Mr. Shelby."


	5. Chapter 5

"There's nobody I trust more than you, Viv," she said into the phone. "The doctor is a dim-witted drunk whose reports are subpar. All he told me was 'things were missing' and 'they were cut'. I need someone who knows what to look for."

"I have James," Vivian said. "I can't just leave him. Can't you call anyone else?"

"No," she said. "I don't trust Arnold's doctor and no one takes me seriously like you do. Please, Vivian. You can leave James with your mum. It'd only be a day or two."

"Jane, the last time you told me 'it'd only be a day or two'," Vivian said, "I was stuck in the countryside for two weeks."

"It'll be different this time," she said.

"You said that too."

"Vivian," Jane said, "Please. I need you here."

There was silence on the other end. "How many bodies am I looking at?"

"I can only get one," she answered. "The most recent victim wasn't claimed by anyone. If you take the train tonight, you can be here in the morning. You can leave the moment you're finished. I promise."

"Fine," she said. "I'll need to get some things in order first. Tell me where you're staying at and I'll come when I can."

She gave her The Garrison's address and they hung up. Jane hadn't wasn't pleased when she heard Dr. Lester's report. The old man was more concerned about his hangover than her. His assistant recommended she return later. Jane asked if she could use their phone instead. Vivian was more than capable of inspecting the body. She called Moss about the mortuary next. Nobody claimed Kelly Chapman, which means they'd cremate her when they concluded the paperwork. He said he'd help as best he could. He told her Campbell kept him busy planning a raid in the next week. It left him with little time for investigating.

"Unfortunately," he said, "I can only investigate when a murder happens."

"I know, Sergeant," she said. "He'll be striking soon."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

She thanked him and hung up. Smoking her last cigarette, she made for Terrance Street. Lizzie Stark was her only lead at the moment. Her run-in with Copycat might give some light to who he is. Tommy said she didn't see his face. How could she not see his face if she willingly went with him? She might have thought she'd be sparing his life by not telling Tommy. She couldn't have known. Mary-Anne, Elizabeth, and Kelly hadn't known either. Copycat might've assaulted women before, but never went beyond a punch or kick. The murder was the ultimate high for him. Beating and raping women didn't please his hatred. He needed their blood on his hands. He needed to take away the "best parts" of them. She wondered what he did once he had them. Did he preserve them? Put them on ice? Did he eat them? Copycat wouldn't go through all that trouble to then throw them out. He kept them. Jack kept his.

She found #4 Terrance Street right away. An old woman answered the door. When Jane asked to see Lizzie Stark, the landlady showed her upstairs. Jane knocked on the door and waited.

"Can I help you, Miss?" Lizzie Stark was a pale, leggy woman with brown hair tied behind her head. She dressed modestly compared to other girls Jane saw. She stared at Jane curiously, and then said, "You're that detective, aren't you?"

"I am. I'm Jane Dawes," she said. "I'm investigating those alley way murders. Someone told me you might have information."

She sighed, "He told you?"

"If you mean Tommy Shelby, then yes he did."

"Come in then," Lizzie said reluctantly. Jane walked into the small lodging, taking a seat on the sofa. Lizzie walked over to a kitchenette and prepared a kettle. "I've never seen Tommy so determined to catch someone before."

"He didn't send me and he doesn't care about that man," she said. "I need information on Copycat and you might be able to help."

She put the kettle on the stove. "Is that what they're calling him?"

"That's what I call him," she said. "His killings are a lot like Jack the Ripper's. He doesn't try making it his own in any way. I'd say he's a fan."

"Some fan…"

"Tommy told me something interesting when I visited him the other day," she began. "He said you came to him about a man who beat you."

"I didn't go to him," she said. "He came to me."

"What for?"

"What do you think?"

Jane nodded in understanding. "So, he saw the bruises and asked about them?"

"He did. Why does he think I can help you?"

"For starters," Jane said, "You can tell me where it happened."

Lizzie stayed by the stove, arms crossed. "Garrison Court," she said.

"Garrison Court is busy at night. Did anybody else see you?"

"No. I was on my own that night. He…" she stopped. "I don't want to talk about it. It doesn't mean anything. It wasn't him anyways."

"How would you know?"

"Because he didn't cut me up," she said. "He didn't even have a knife."

"Not all killers kill right away. They build up to it," Jane explained. "It's minor offenses or little run-ins with the law. They act out. They repress their fantasies so much that it kills them. It leads to them killing others. It could have been him. We won't know until you tell me everything."

"Why should I tell you? I don't have to."

"You're right, you don't," she said. "Do you still work, Lizzie?"

She shifted her weight to one side, "I might."

"Do you have friends that work?"

"I did."

"If you had the opportunity to protect them from harm, would you?" She took a long drag from her cigarette and blew sideways.

"Of course." Lizzie realized what she'd said, and then added, "Trust me. The man who did it isn't capable of that sort of thing."

The tea kettle whistled softly. Jane said, "So you do know who attacked you."

"I do," she said. "I didn't tell Tommy because, well…"

"What?"

"Look, it wasn't anything serious. He didn't rape me or anything. He only hit me," she defended. "I didn't want Tommy cutting someone's throat over a few bruises. I can handle that much myself."

"Why did he hit you? Did you refuse him at some point?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm used to them hitting me and taking it anyway. It only stopped when Tommy started seeing me. He doesn't like people hurting me."

"What a humanitarian," Jane scoffed.

The kettle shrieked and Lizzie picked it up off the stove. She put tea bags into two cups and poured the water over them. "This man was…" she stopped pouring, "He was different."

"How?"

She came to her with both cups, "Ms. Dawes-"

"-Jane-"

"-Jane, he's not always like that. He's always kind to me. He even bought me a new hat. He was only drunk that night."

"So that excuses what he did?"

Lizzie shook her head, "No, but I couldn't afford to lose a customer." She gave a shaky breath and brought the tea cups to the lounge. "He came to me one night and asked me if we could go somewhere private. I asked him where he wanted me, and he took me to an alley. That wasn't the odd part."

"What was the odd part?"

"He-He handcuffed me. He pushed me to the wall and cuffed me. I thought it all pretended. He sometimes liked playing rough with me, but he never took it too far. I wasn't scared until he pulled out a knife." She gripped the sides of her cup and looked away. "He put it to my throat and said if I screamed, he'd cut me. He said I'd pay for hurting him. He said me and all my friends would pay for what we did to him. I thought he was going to kill me." She squeezed her eyes shut, "He hit me a few times, screaming and shouting things at me. Then he left. Just like that. He walked away as if he'd dumped garbage on his front porch. He threw money at me and told me if I told anyone, I'd regret it."

"Have you seen him since?" Jane sipped her tea, putting out her cigarette in an ash tray.

"Not since he apologized," she said. "I think he's afraid I told Tommy. I should have told him. Mary might still be here if I'd said something. Tommy would've gotten him. Those coppers don't know left from right. They're letting that murderer step all over us, but not Tommy. Tommy would've stopped him."

"You knew Mary-Anne then?" she asked.

"She was my friend. I worked with her," she said. "We both thought it was good to stick together. I'd gone home early the night she died. I was feeling a bit ill from some snow a man gave me, so I left."

"Snow? Cocaine?"

"Yes," she nodded. "There was a man giving it out. He gave a little packet to Mary and we shared it. I thought it was a bit reckless, but Mary-Anne liked playing with fire. It made me a bit woozy. I told her I'd sleep it off at home. She stayed out because she needed the money for her little girl. I-I could have stopped it if I was with her. She's dead because I was stupid and scared."

"She's dead because a maniac went out that night and decided he'd kill her. It wasn't because of you."

She couldn't tell Lizzie that it would've helped if she'd spoken up. If Tommy does delivers justice, Copycat would be dead. But, Jane needed his name first. "What is his name? I'll talk to him."

Lizzie gave a breathy laugh. "You? What makes you think he won't do the same to you?"

"He won't."

"His name is Malacki Byrne. He's usually at the Black Swan Pub. It's in Sparkbrook."

"Thank you, Lizzie."

* * *

The Black Swan Pub was a dingy little place a train ride away from Small Heath. She guessed they called it 'Black Swan' on the count of the black walls. All the men watched her come down the stairs and approach the bar. She noticed a group of them eyeing her from afar. Jane didn't mind. The only thing men ever did was look at her. It was becoming quite bothersome. Lizzie mentioned they wouldn't welcome her in the pub. Normally women weren't allowed there unless they came for their husband. Jane told her she can't get her answers if she waited outside a pub all day.

"Excuse me," she asked the barkeep, a large man with auburn hair, "Do you know where I can find Malacki Byrne?"

"Who's asking?"

The question didn't come from the bartender. It came from one of the men in the corner. Jane faced him and answered, "I only have a few questions for him."

Broad and blond, the man moved a little closer to her. His dusty jacket and worn hands said factory worker. His Irish dialect put him from Dublin. He then said, "Like I said, who's asking?"

"Jane Dawes," she replied. "I'm investigating some murders in Small Heath. I learned he frequents a particular area there. I wanted to ask him some questions about his ventures. He attacked a woman a few months ago in Small Heath. Do you know him, sir?"

"I do," he nodded. He surveyed her and then said, "You're a detective, eh? That's a funny sight. Does Small Heath have lady detectives?"

"It does for the time being," she said. "Where can I find Malacki Byrne?"

"You're from London. You're too pretty to be from Small Heath."

"That's a bit exaggerated, isn't it? I'm sure there are lots of beautiful women in Small Heath. You're just separating me from them because you think it'll flatter me. Now, back to Malacki Byrne-"

"-Does your husband know you're here? Does he let you go wandering about pubs and asking for other men?"

"I'm not married and if I was, why would that be your concern? About Malacki-"

"-It's a shame you're not," he said. "If you were my wife, I'd handcuff you to our marriage bed."

"If I were your wife, I'd chew my own arm off to get out of it," she snapped. She suddenly understood what Lizzie meant. Irish men weren't always so vulgar. This one was. "Now, if you're done, I'd like to know where Malacki Bryne is."

"He's busy, little lady," he said. "But, you're always free to stay with me and my friends."

She scoffed in disgust. She couldn't believe the nerve of some men. They all had one-track minds. "I'll go ask at another pub," she said.

When she tried leaving, the man grabbed her arm. "Come on, love, stay a while. It's rare I get to stare at pretty things."

"I'm not a 'thing'," she wiggled herself from his grasp and stepped away. "I'm a woman. Good day, sir."

"You can leave when I say so!"

The man made for her again and this time she swung her bag at him. The pistol within slammed into his cheek and he went against the bar. Some of the men stood, but did not intervene. "I leave when I want. Tell me where Malacki Byrne is or I'm gone."

She heard him break for her when she turned her back. This time, she dropped her bag and swiped her palm up across his nose. Blood spurted over his upper lip. He clutched the injury and looked at her angrily. "You bitch!"

"You can either tell me where Malacki Byrne is or I can do that again," she said. "Choice is yours."

"Brassy little one, aren't you?" he chuckled.

He took a swing at her, but she dodged it. Jane gave him a straight shot to his solar plexus, which made him double over. She smacked him in the back of the head which caused him to turn around. He aimed at her face again, yet missed when she blocked it with both arms and backhanded him. His head went sideways. The rude man punched her in the gut, knocking the wind out of her a moment. She kept herself up. She removed her coat.

The men didn't aid their friend. They didn't dare. Instead, they fixed the tables into a ring and began placing bets. Even the bartender participated. People from upstairs heard the commotion and came down. She didn't care. She only came for a name but received a fight instead. The man charged at her, but she only moved away and directed him to the bar instead. He hit it with a thud. He lunged at her, lifting her off the floor and onto a table. Between her legs, he punched her square in the mouth. The iron taste touched her tongue and followed by another. Jane shielded her face and gave him a few punches to his stomach and chest. She pushed him off her when he paused for a split second. The people around them cheered for one fighter or the other. It felt like home.

For some reason, a dark figure caught the corner of her eye. She panted, turning to the staircase where she saw Tommy. He'd come looking for Malacki too. What else would he be doing here? This distraction costs a jab to the jaw. Jane held onto the bar and looked back at her opponent.

"Where's Malacki Byrne? He must be bad if you're protecting him," she said.

"I'm not protecting anyone, Princess. I'm only teaching you a lesson."

She scoffed, "Let me teach you one then."

She grabbed a glass off the table and threw its contents at him. The whiskey inside blinded him, but he threw a punch anyways. Jane blocked it easily and countered by hitting his cheek. She head butted him when he drew near, making him stagger slightly. He attempted another hit, but she blocked again. The next swing met with her temple. She lost focus a second. He punched her stomach again, and she grunted out the pain. Doubled over, he gave her one hit to the left and to the right of her abdomen. Jane took the opportunity of her position and rammed him into the bar. She slammed her other elbow into his jaw which generated a soft crack. She then hit the other side perfectly with her fist. The man grabbed a bottle, but she grabbed his wrist in time. She slammed it onto the counter a few times before he let go. He pushed her off him and she fell back against a chair. She leaned her weight on it and kicked him in the middle of his chest.

The man fell to the ground, groaning and cursing her. Blood in her mouth, soreness in her stomach, she knew she'll be getting an earful from Vivian. Her eyes cast back to Tommy, watching him light a cigarette and go back up the stairs.

"Where is he?" she asked around the room.

The man coughed, "At a meeting."

"What meeting?"

"An Irish one."

' _Damn,'_ she thought. _'He's bloody IRA.'_

"Well, when he gets back," she said, "Tell him to come to the Garrison Pub in Small Heath. Tell him to ask for Jane Dawes. I have questions and I'm getting answers."

She picked up her coat and purse, ignoring all the stares as she left. Coming outside, she put her hand to a wall and breathed in deep. She spat the blood pooled in her mouth and wiped it with her handkerchief. She coughed. Her ribs ached as she felt them. They weren't broken, not by a long shot, but Vivian will insist an examination.

"Never seen a woman fight like that," Tommy said as he approached.

She looked over at him, "Then I hope you enjoyed your first time. Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

"Do you rub everyone the wrong way or is it just men?"

"Only when they're rude," she readjusted herself, fixing her blouse and coat. She touched the handkerchief to her bleeding lips. Thankfully it matched her lipstick. "What were you doing here? Don't you have business elsewhere?"

"I came looking for Malacki Byrne," he said. "Lizzie came clean about who attacked her."

"And you've come to disperse justice, eh?" she laughed softly. She began walking down the street, getting looks as she passed people. Tommy followed her.

"No," he said, "I came because of you."

She stopped in her tracks, looking over at him. "What?"

"Black Swan Pub isn't known for its hospitality," he said. "I thought you might've needed someone with you."

"You mean you think I need protecting?" she said. "I can handle my own, thanks." She continued walking. The train back to Small Heath leaves in half an hour. She'd make it on time. Unfortunately, this meant Tommy would be coming with her.

"You're not always going to run into people who will use their fists." He took her arm. It wasn't a rough or demanding gesture. She didn't mind it. "I don't doubt you have a pistol in that purse of yours," he said, "Or a knife hidden under your skirt. But you won't win every fight on your own, and you will cross a lot of them around here."

"And you care?"

"I don't," he said, "I care about protecting my investment. A lot of people think what you do is a joke. I don't. I've put much more faith in you than I should because I've seen what you're capable of. Who do you think put Moss up to hiring you?"

She scowled. He outwitted her again. "You did."

"He wanted to ask The Inspector for help," he admitted, "But I told him he had a better chance with you."

"He said a colleague suggested me."

"Well, he couldn't well say a criminal put him up to it, could he?"

She slipped her arm out from his hand. She gripped the handle of her bag. Jane should have seen this coming. She spotted things like this a mile away. "I have a car. We could drive back together."

"Not interested," she said.

Jane walked away from him and this time he didn't pursue her. She decided then that she hated him.


	6. Chapter 6

A raid for communists from what she suspected. She watched the Specials go from house to house. They threw out furniture and tossed possessions from windows. They pushed their way inside and arrested anyone who resisted. Jane stayed in her room above the pub as it happened. They had no right. They weren't fulfilling any noble duty. They did what any other authority figure does: abuse their power. It reminded her of Arnold. Her brother often did things disguised as nobility. These men sickened her. Campbell lead a group of them into the pub. She rushed over to her desk and began pulling down the pictures and papers. Jane wouldn't let him find them. She knew better than leaving them in the open. She put them all back in their proper folders as she heard the men downstairs. They knocked over chairs and turned over tables. She heard them tossing the rooms on either side of her.

Jane loosened one of the floorboards and tucked the papers inside. She moved away the moment the door burst open. The Special Forces stormed inside in their black capes and uniforms. They began opening her drawers and flipping her mattress. She knew they wouldn't find anything. There wasn't anything there.

Campbell walked into the room as the men continued their search. Smoking his pipe, he didn't seem concerned about the mess. His eyes focused on Jane in her satin robe and nightdress. She felt his eyes looking right through it. She covered herself up in disgust. Even in a situation like this, his eyes still devoured her. The tobacco scent on his coat made her gag as it mixed with his cologne. His eyes rested on hers when he said, "Morning, Ms. Dawes."

"Inspector," she said. "What brings you here so early in the day?"

"As you well know, I am in search of my stolen weapons," he answered. "I thought you might help me."

"Why would I help you? I have no interest in your guns," she told him. "Even if I had bothered, I wouldn't tell you. I like going to the source myself." She did know, but she wouldn't tell him even if he asked. It was amazing what a few conversations and an accounting book can say.

"I believe it'll be in your best interest to help me, Ms. Dawes," he said. "It'd be a shame if they learned you had snow in your boots."

She laughed, "I'm a communist now? Nobody would believe you."

"They would if we came across this in your bedroom," he said. He retrieved a book from his pocket. Communist propaganda often led to suspicion. Jane only giggled.

"That means nothing," she said. "You should've come with something more incriminating. A book you planted won't mean anything."

"I am serious, Ms. Dawes," he warned. "You agree to aid me and this will go back where it came from."

"You don't scare me," she said. "Any charge you put against me won't stick."

"And why is that?"

"My brother works in the British government," she informed him. "He wouldn't let you imprison me under false charges. He works close with your own boss, which puts him above you." Arnold wouldn't like hearing someone put her in jail. He sent her to Germany the last time she'd gone beyond her limits. He'd never allow her behind bars.

"Why should I be afraid of some fancy boy with a government position? He could be a desk clerk for all I know."

"Because Arnold Dawes _is_ the British government."

Campbell believed her. He put the book back in his pocket and glared. "You would be doing your country a great service if you helped retrieved these guns. Anyone who aided in their return would be handsomely rewarded."

"I've done enough for my country," she said. "Now, I'll kindly ask that your men stand down and leave."

He huffed. He issued the command and his men filed out of the room. He looked on Jane, "It's a shame. That cadaver you requested could have had some vital clues for your case."

She stopped him when he tried leaving, "What?"

"I caught Sergeant Moss attempting to hold the proceedings on Ms. Chapman's corpse. I told him if he did that, I'd see to it he lost his position permanently," he said. "Since you refused to help me, they'll go along as planned."

"You can't do that," she said. "There is an actual murderer out there! I think murder is just a smidge above robbery! We all already know who has them, so go bother him about them!"

"Mr. Shelby has plans of his own. As I do with the body, he uses my assignment against me." He stepped closer to her, "I will not a meddling woman and a cut-throat gangster outsmart me. They sent me here on assignment, and I will finish it one way or the other. You can either help me or lose all your evidence."

She looked him over. He had more than anger in his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched and he clutched the brim of his hat. She then said, "It must be embarrassing for a man of your position. You're stuck between a rock and a hard place. You're so accustomed to getting what you want. What did he threaten you with? Sending the shipment far away? Selling it to the IRA? To the communists? There'd be a serious revolution if it fell into their laps." She moved in until there was an inch between them. "And it bothers you that people you look down on have done this to you. We can never be as cunning as you. We're supposed to be beneath you. We should be answering to you; not the other way around."

"So, you're saying 'no' then?"

"I am."

"You'll regret this, Ms. Dawes." He walked out of the room, heading downstairs. She followed him.

"I might not like Mr. Shelby," she said, pursuing him, "But I dislike you even more! If I go to that mortuary today and find that body missing, you'll be the one living in regret."

Standing in the middle of the ransacked tavern, Campbell turned around. He studied her face as he put on his hat. "Your threats are adorable, Ms. Dawes."

She grabbed the nearest bottle and threw it at him as he left the pub. It smashed against the door, falling to the ground in a puddle of gin and glass. Jane growled. She couldn't believe him. He was only doing this because of Tommy. He'd ruin her investigation because Tommy cornered him. She was starting to dislike him more and more every day. She turned to Harry, who stood stunned behind the bar.

"Where's your phone, Harry?" she asked him.

"Office," he pointed. "Why?"

"I have to call Vivian."

* * *

Vivan reluctantly agreed to be there by nightfall. Jane pulled on the first dress she found, fixing her hair and make-up. Loosening the floorboard, she grabbed the files and put them back on her desk. She tried not thinking of Kelly Chapman's body burning in an incinerator. The other bodies were already buried and decomposed. There'd be little to no evidence on them. She'd instructed the mortician not to touch or clean the body yet. She wished then they'd called her sooner. If they had, she'd have what she needed.

She came back downstairs where she saw a group of men repairing the pub. Special Forces tore through the place looking for evidence. It didn't surprise her that they never said what for. Jane spotted Harry placing broken chairs on one side of the room. "They didn't damage too much," she said. "It could have been worse."

"Yeah, I suppose," he sighed. He looked about the room, "What was all that fuss about this morning?"

"He wanted my help and I wouldn't give it to him," she said. She rifled through her handbag and handed him money. "For the bottle. If you need help paying for anything else-"

"-Don't worry about it," he said. "Mr. Shelby's already taking care of it."

"Of course, he is," she groaned. "Why won't he just do me a favor and disappear?"

Harry chuckled, "You really don't like him, do you?"

"No, I don't."

"Because he knew more about you than you wanted him to." She glanced at him bemused, and he said, "A customer of mine mentioned it. He said you weren't too happy when you left the betting shop."

"Well, I don't think you'd like someone setting his little spies on you," she said. "The whole reason Campbell's threatened my investigation is over these damned guns."

Jane already knew he had them. It only made sense. Campbell knew he did as well, but couldn't move on him. She wondered why. Campbell didn't seem the type to let Tommy hold him down. She didn't have time for that. "I'm on my way to see him," she said.

"What for?"

"I have a deal for him."

Jane headed down the street towards Watery Lane. She saw people helping one another. Men dragged furniture back into houses, and women picked up clothes and jewelry on the ground. This raid wasn't about finding weapons or communists. It was a hit towards Tommy. Many of the pubs around town paid good money for protection. Campbell could make it seem that Tommy allowed it. He'd certainly lose popularity.

"Psst!" The noise came from a nearby alley. "Psst! Jane!"

She turned and saw Freddie in the shadows. "Freddie?"

"Shh! Come!" he said, beckoning her into the alley.

Jane looked around before stepping into the darkness. Damp and muddy, the narrow alley laid between two buildings. She saw a maze of other alleys down the path. Freddie appeared disheveled and half-dressed. "They raided your house?"

"They did," he said. "I left before they could catch me. Listen, I've heard something down the way and I thought you should know."

"What is it?"

"I have a friend who visits the Black Swan Pub-"

"-If this is about the fight, it's not news to me."

"No, it's what happened after the pub," he said. "You were looking for Malacki Byrne, right?"

"I was."

"Well, after the fight and the raids, he isn't gonna be coming out of hiding anytime soon," he said. He searched in his pocket and pulled out a crumbled paper. "A message passed down from him to my friend," he said. He handed her the paper and said, "Everything you need to know is in there."

"I'd rather see him in person, Freddie."

"Like I said, it's all in there." He then checked his exits and said, "I gotta lay low for a while. One of my comrades at the BSA will leave you messages with Harry if I catch something."

A familiar smell wafted off him and into her nose. She recognized the scent from the Shelby house. Jane remembered Ada's hickey and suddenly realized it. She then said, "I'd recommend Camden. I know a man there who has a basement you can use. He's…" she searched for the right word, "He's sympathetic to your cause."

"You helped out a communist?" he smirked.

"And now I'm helping another. Keep your ears open," she said.

"Will do," he nodded. "Take care, Jane."

Freddie left out the way he'd come. Jane stuffed the paper in her handbag and continued on her way. She arrived at #6, which remained untouched. She pounded on the door.

"Jane," Polly answered this time, "Come to see Tommy?"

"You know I have," she answered. "Where is he?"

"Dining room," she said.

She let Jane inside. Jane stormed into their dining room where she found Tommy smoking a cigarette. He sat in contemplation, looking off elsewhere and not acknowledging her. She saw a pail of beer in the middle of the table. By the look of the drained mugs, the other Shelby men ran off already. She glowered at him. She placed her handbag on the table and waited.

"He raided you too?" he said.

"He did," she said. "He also threatened to take away my only piece of evidence because I wouldn't help him."

"Help him with what?" His eyes finally met hers. Indifferent and disinterested, she couldn't stand him.

"You know what," she answered.

"And what do you want me to do about that? It's not my fault you don't want to help him."

"Oh, you don't want me helping him," she said. She rested her palms on the table and leaned into him. "Trust me." Jane stared at him hard. She was sick of this men's war. "I don't care about your ambitions or plans. I don't care about his assignment or his bosses. I care about Copycat. You two are dancing around each other over some stupid shipment while a man is destroying women. It's pathetic. It's selfish."

"What makes you think I have them?"

She laughed, "Who else has the means of holding them? I can't think of anyone else owning a horse stable or several tobacco warfs. You hid your contraband items there don't you? Your cigarettes and whiskey? Who else can come by such things but you?" When he raised an eyebrow she said, "A look through Harry's books was enough for me. How long have you been laundering money through his pub? A month? Two months? It's only a matter of time before you end up owning the place. Also, a man in the pub said you recently killed a friend of yours. Danny Whizbang? Daniel Owens? I saw his name in the book. I didn't know dead men could still get paid for 'confidential services'."

"I told Harry to lock those up."

"I picked the lock," she said. "You looked into me, so I thought I'd return the favor. I wonder if Danny Owens is walking around, what's buried in his grave."

Tommy clenched his jaw, putting out his cigarette. "What do you want?"

"I need Kelly Chapman before Campbell decides to burn her," she said.

"Why do you need it so badly? Any evidence that's on her is gone now. I'm sure another one will pop up any day now."

"I can't wait that long," she told him. "Dr. Lester's incompetent. I have someone who can look into her, but first I need her."

"So, you're saying I have to steal this body and put her somewhere else?" he said. "Where would I put her?"

"You're a clever man, you figure it out," she picked up her bag. "You stole a whole shipment of guns and ammunition. I think you can steal a body. You have until tonight."

Without another word, she left.


	7. Chapter 7

" _Dear Ms. Dawes,_

 _I'm sorry we couldn't meet in person. After what you did to my comrade, I would've liked sharing a pint with you. Sadly, times have become difficult for my cause. The presence of Inspector Chester Campbell has kept me well away from Birmingham. But, news has reached me of the butcher you accuse me of being. I'd be glad to tell you that I've been out of town for the past month and a half, well before these murders began._

 _Whatever Lizzie told you is true and I regret it every day. Yet, that does not make me a killer. If you need a lead, I suggest digging into someone else. Inspector Campbell perhaps?_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Malacki Byrne.'_

Jane couldn't simply take his word for it. Though, it did sound convincing enough. If Malacki truthfully had been away when the murders began, then he couldn't be Copycat. She'd send a letter to Freddie for more. Putting the letter with the rest of the files, she stood up and walked to the window. Vivian would be arriving in a few hours. She hadn't received any word from Tommy on where he placed Kelly Chapman. The wait made her uneasy. She might not like the man, but he wasn't the kind to go back on a deal. Looking below, she noticed an auburn haired woman walking towards the pub. Jane beamed. She knew Vivian wouldn't be happy. Jane knew she didn't like leaving James with her mother. This was important. She needed her.

"Vivian," Jane smiled as Vivian entered the pub downstairs. "You're finally here! Just like the old days."

"I hate you," Vivian grumbled. "I have a son, Jane. He needs his mother at home. I have to take care of him on my own now that Jim is gone. I can't leave him with my mother all the time. I have a job too. A job I almost lost today because I told Mr. Spector that I was leaving on another trip. I can't drop everything in my life whenever you call on me. Not everyone has all the time in the world for foolish things like this."

Jane saw her tense shoulders and angry eyes. "She lectured you, didn't she?"

Vivian sighed heavily, taking off her hat. "Yes," she said. "You should've seen her face when I told her I was leaving again. She shook her head and said I couldn't be a proper mother if I kept running off. She said being his grandmother didn't make her a go-to nanny."

"You could've brought him with you."

"Oh, so he can gawk at a dead body?"

"No," she said, "Harry would've watched him. Right, Harry?"

"Um, sure," Harry said, wiping down the bar top.

"See?"

"Jane," she said, "A tavern is no place for a child."

"Why? He'll end up visiting them later when he's older."

"Jane…"

Jane moved her weight to one side and said, "Look, I'm sorry, Viv. There was no one else I could call. It'll only take a moment or two. Then you can go home to James."

Vivian then noticed it, "You've been fighting again. Who did you fight this time?"

"Some man named Maguire," she said. "I went there for answers and got rudeness instead, okay?"

"Ugh, Jane, you're impossible."

"But you still came…"

They looked at each other. Jane couldn't have been happier to see a familiar face; particularly Vivian's face. "I did," Vivian said. She searched around the room, "Where's this body of yours?"

"Dunno," she answered.

"What do you mean you don't know? Did you lose it?"

"It's a funny story actually," she winced.

The two of them sat down and Jane told her the story over whiskey and cigarettes. Vivian didn't believe half the things Jane told her. She commented on Campbell's interception and Tommy's reluctance. She guessed Jane didn't like either of them. Jane only nodded. She'd never met two men so unconcerned with murder. One moment, Tommy admits to suggesting her to the Sergeant. The next moment, he's halfheartedly agreeing to get her Kelly Chapman. Campbell's constant snipes certainly didn't help either. Jane wished they'd cooperate a little bit more before Copycat killed again.

"It seems to have been a while since his last kill," Vivian noted. "Maybe he's done."

"No," Jane shook her head. "If he plans to follow The Ripper's pattern, he'll kill two more women. The last one will be fully annihilated." She let out another puff of cigarette smoke.

"Then he'll go into hiding afterward," Vivian finished her drink. "He'll disappear."

"I have to find him before then," she said.

"You plan to take this killer down all by yourself?"

"It seems I have to. I hoped I'd be receiving some kind of help, but this community doesn't seem interested. The only help I have is a communist on the run and the barman."

"And Arnold hasn't reached out?"

Jane scoffed, "My brother interested in the deaths of prostitutes? Never. No, Arnold won't come. He only does if it concerns the government."

"If you asked-"

"-I said he won't come-"

"-Jane, your brother might be a bit pompous, but he does care about-"

"-Shut it-"

"-You only dislike him because he's smarter than you-"

"-Vivian!"

"Oh fine! Have it your way then," Vivian said. "Let's go visit this Shelby character so I can go home."

"You don't have to, Miss," Harry then said. "His brother is coming this way."

The third Shelby brother entered. Younger than Arthur and Tommy, she remembered him from the gambling den. He'd been writing away numbers on a chalkboard, which he also did today. She spotted the chalk dust on his jacket and hands. It didn't matter how much one might wipe their hands, chalk always leaves a layer until washed off. John didn't seem to know this. She watched him approach them, broken matchstick hanging from his mouth.

"You must be John," she smiled, putting out her cigarette.

"I am," he nodded, "And you're Jane." His eyes fell on Vivian. He paused for a second, taking out the matchstick and straightening up.

"I'm Vivian," Vivian said, holding out her hand.

John shook it, a bit stunned by her. Jane hoped what was happening wasn't happening. She rolled her eyes and said, "Your brother sent you then?"

"He did," John said. He peeled his eyes away from Vivian, and said, "He says he has what you asked for. He's waiting for you at the docks."

She supposed the docks could hold a body. She hoped he kept her on the ice at least. "Perfect," she said, "I'll get my coat."

When she returned, she found John and Vivian by the table. They both laughed at a joke John just told, and appeared stiff around one another. Jane spotted Vivian toying with the clasp of her handbag. She occasionally looked away so she didn't stare too intently. Jane sighed. It's been four years since her husband's death. Vivian would've found someone at some point. People like Vivian needed companionship and distractions. Jane couldn't stand either of those things. She hated being with one person and distractions led to mistakes.

Jane never met a man she could stand for more than a night.

LINE

The docks were cold and breezy. John and Vivian lagged behind her the whole way there. She heard bits of conversation and soft laughter. She pretended she couldn't hear them. Jane wouldn't interrupt them or stand in Vivian's way. She tried keeping her own thoughts from her mind as they came into the docks. Kelly Chapman was on ice somewhere in the docks, waiting for examination. Jane wasn't sure what they'd find if they found anything. She'd hoped the mortician did as requested. If he wiped the body already, then anything of value is gone. She'd arrived early enough for them to hold off preparing her.

Small structures, piers, and long boats along the side of the canal, there was an area lit by lanterns. She spotted a pale figure standing with his back to them. The usual cloud of smoke told her who it was. She hadn't expected Tommy to be waiting for her. This sort of thing seemed beneath him.

"Business taking the night off?" she asked, coming to the threshold of light.

He turned around. He threw down his cigarette and said, "I wanted to make sure you got what you wanted."

"How kind of you," she said. She walked closer to him. Tommy's eyes looked over her shoulder.

"Is that your doctor?"

"Yes," she nodded. She turned around to Vivian, "Viv?"

Vivian stopped talking to John, seeming a bit annoyed. "Yes?" She came over to them, medical bag on her arm.

"This is Tommy Shelby," Jane said. "He generously agreed to bring us Kelly Chapman."

"Nice to meet you," Vivian said. Her eyes scanned him, and then she glanced over at Jane. "So, you're the one that hired her?"

"I am," he answered.

"Well, you're not the first gangster who's hired her," Vivian said. "Who was the last one? That Jewish fellow? He called you about stolen bread or something like that?"

"It was rum," Jane corrected, "And he ended up killing the man when we caught him." She turned to Tommy, "Where is she?"

"Stable, " he said, nodding to the building near them. "I had them put her on ice. She won't last much longer, so whatever you two have to do, do it now."

"It's all business with you two, isn't it?" Vivian asked, leaving them for the stable.

Yes. Ye, it was all business. The four of them entered the stable that Tommy used for storage. She guessed he'd stolen most of the items. She couldn't imagine someone of Tommy's standing owning four motorbikes. "I suppose the policemen on your payroll know about these?" she tapped one of the motorbikes.

"They're paid to pretend they don't," he said.

"Campbell hasn't stormed it yet? I thought he'd be tearing all your hiding spots apart," she said.

"He doesn't know about it."

"Well not now," she told him.

"Are you planning to tell him?"

"No."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Curiosity," she answered.

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

"But satisfaction brought it back," she finished. She examined one of the bikes. "I never liked these. I prefer cars and trains."

"Bikes are too dangerous for you?" He sounded amused. She hated it.

"No," she said. "I just don't like them."

"Jane got into an accident once," Vivian said, reaching the trunk in one of the stalls. "She was riding with her cousin and he lost balance. She skidded onto the road. She scraped and broke her arm."

"Maybe you should try it again," Tommy suggested. "You might like it a second time around."

"I'm fine, thanks," Jane said.

She came to the last stall where a bald-headed man lit a lantern. Kelly Chapman lay in a trunk filled to the brim with melting ice. The nude blonde lay flat as a board, her skin already discolored into a blue-purple color all over. Different from the slender girl in the photographs, her corpse already began bloating. Dried fluids caked at the corners of her mouth and eyes. Jane guessed it'd been two weeks since Kelly died. The mortician did her the kindness of sewing her torso shut.

Vivian coughed, "I can certainly say there isn't much point in opening her. The uterus and kidney were missing, you said?"

"Yes," Jane said.

Vivian put her bag beside the trunk. John stayed closest to her, a bit disgusted himself. "What do you plan to find from this?" John asked, "I don't think she'd have anything on her."

"She might," Vivian said, pulling on a pair of gloves. She looked down at Kelly for a moment and then said to Jane, "They should have called you in sooner. Perhaps then we could've had something."

"I know," Jane sighed. "That's what I said. Please don't tell me there's nothing."

"Oh, there is," Vivian said, "I just have to find it."

"Do you two do this often?" Tommy asked.

"More often than I care to say," Vivian replied. "Except when Jane calls me, the body is still fresh." Vivian felt tenderly around the abdomen and groin. Jane watched her shake her head every time her hands moved. Reaching back up to the chest, she stopped. Her fingers pressed harder into the skin. "Hello, hello, hello," she whispered.

"Viv?"

"There's something in here."

"You mean he missed something?" said Tommy.

"He did," Vivian said. "It could've gone in deep and rose to the surface during bloatedness." She grabbed a scalpel from her bag, "But it's small. Your doctor wouldn't have seen it right away."

"Especially if he was drunk," Jane said.

"He's not used to the grotesque," Tommy excused. "Most of the corpses he gets are bullet holes to the head."

"And you'd know how they got there, wouldn't you?"

"Perhaps," he said. "I'm not the only one around here who carries a pistol."

"No, your bodies would end up in the canal."

They looked at each other. His eyes surveyed her face as Campbell's had done. They weren't filled with lust or even flirtation. He was uneasy. She guessed few people called him out so blatantly. She wasn't scared of him and he didn't know what to do.

"So, you're a doctor then?" John asked Vivian as she carefully slid the scalpel into the stitching.

"Sort of," Vivan answered. "I'm a secretary, but my father was a doctor. I learned some things from him."

"You're too smart to be a secretary."

"I tell her that all the time," Jane said. "She doesn't listen to me."

"Not now, Jane," Vivian warned.

She took out a pair of tweezers and dug into the gap. Jane felt Tommy's eyes on her even though he'd looked away. She felt warm all over. "What is it?"

"I'm getting there…" Vivian moved the tweezers this way and that. She finally removed the object inside. "Five-pence? What the…?" She showed them all the bloody coin between the tips, "It's five-pence."

"What?" Jane came closer and observed it in Vivian's hand.

"You think he dropped it?" John said. "I can't see why he'd leave it in there."

"No," she shook her head, "He doesn't do things absentmindedly. He left this here on purpose."

"He thinks women are cheap," Tommy said behind her.

"Sorry?"

"You said he hates women, right?" he asked. "He hates them so that's why he removes parts of them?"

"It's a theory."

"Kelly was quite popular among men. She was young, pretty and willing to do whatever her customers liked. I heard she charged a bit more than the others. Putting that coin inside her says that he thinks she's cheap. He thinks she's not worth more than five-pence because she's had so many customers."

"Did the other girls charge as much?" Jane asked him.

"Not that I know of," he said.

Jane and he shared a glance. She then said, "I'll take that into consideration. Viv, store that. We can study this later on. What else?"

Vivian looked at Kelly's hands. "Flesh," she said, "Under the fingernails. There's no point scraping it out."

"Why?" John asked.

"It's already deteriorating. The only clue I can gather is that Kelly tried defending herself," she told her. "See here and here?" she pointed to the cuts and scrapes on Kelly's arms, "She put up a fight before he grabbed her."

"He came at her forwards," Jane said. "The other victims didn't have defensive wounds."

Vivian peeked at her eyes and nostrils, "Cocaine."

"Cocaine?"

"She snorted cocaine beforehand," she said. "The little tearing is still there. I'm going to take a stab and guess she wasn't a frequent user. The injuries set after she'd died. Did the report say anything about a bloody nose?"

"No, and they probably wouldn't."

"Damn," Vivian cursed. "She snorted it too hard or her nose was dry, and it made her bleed."

"The bloody nose distracted her."

"And he took his chance to cut her throat."

"Where would she get cocaine?" she asked Tommy.

"Not from anyone around here," he said. "People here don't have that sort of thing unless they get it from a chemist."

"Or they already have the means of buying it," Jane said. "He lures them in with the promise of drugs and then kills them when they're not looking. Lizzie told me she'd taken some from Mary-Anne, and it made her ill."

"So it's not cocaine?" John asked.

"No. It's something else. Cocaine makes the taker more alert. This slows them down. He uses it to control them."

"But he doesn't have to," Vivian said, "He already has them with money. He uses it to subdue them when he's about to kill them. Kelly fought back because she hadn't taken as much."

"He needs to hear them scream, you said," Tommy added. "Wouldn't drugging them have the opposite effect?"

"They don't have to pass out," she said. "They only need a small bump. They're still alive when he kills them. He just needs them limp."

"Opium."

She looked at him questionably. "He uses opium," Tommy said. "They sell it in powder form in Chinatown. It's more expensive than the regular kind."

"They're passed out by the time he's halfway through," Jane added.

"It seems a bit convoluted," Vivian said. "He doesn't need the drug. He can just walk off with them."

"There's something about him that puts them off," she said. "He might have a disfigurement or handicap? He might be too old?"

"My money's on disfigurement," Vivian told her.

"And since when does a whore get to be picky?" Jane asked herself. "He might feel like women look down on him because of it. Maybe he's had women who were less than interested in having him. A woman might've even have scorned him at some point and he can't let it go."

"So he's showing them that they're the ugly ones," Tommy came up beside her. "It's why he takes the best parts of them and cuts up their bodies. He barely focuses on the face."

"He thinks their bodies are what people notice instead of their faces," Jane said. "To him, it's the only part that matters."

"His disfigurement might be on him," John chimed in. "It might be why he doesn't do their faces. Like maybe he's missing an arm or scarred up or something."

"Maybe…"

Jane couldn't look away from him. She never expected anything other than apathy and even annoyance. She guessed he might be trying to move things along. Yet, he could have left them with John. Tommy didn't need to be there. Instead, he stayed. He actually gave his thoughts and inputs. He might not be as disinterested as he seemed.


	8. Chapter 8

He should have struck by now. He'd need to kill again soon. She paced back and forth in her room. A day passed since she'd examined Kelly's body and no word about Copycat. Vivian sat at the desk, jotting down her report for the case files. She'd be leaving in a few hours. Jane could feel the impending goodbye coming. She felt so alone in this mess. Vivian was the only one. Jane needed her here. Nobody else could stay on her level or at least fake some interest. They all fell behind eventually. Tommy would soon enough. He committed crimes. He didn't solve them.

"There isn't much to the coin," Vivian said. "Only Kelly's blood was on the coin. Then again, he uses gloves. I think they're surgical since leather leaves prints. Anyways, I finished my report. I noted the skin beneath her fingernails. It can't tell us anything except that she scratched him. I can't imagine the police station having a laboratory to test it on. I feel sorry for you."

"You could get some of your equipment and come back," Jane said.

"No," she said. "We agreed one one day. I'm leaving tonight and I can be home before James wakes up."

"It'll be like you never left."

"Jane, if you had children you'd understand," she told her. "You can't abandon them every time a case comes up. It's important that you're there for them. They need to know someone cares for them."

"Speaking from experience?"

Vivian narrowed her eyes, "Matter of fact, yes I am. My mother constantly shoved me off to my nanny. I want to be there for James. I don't want him seeing me as some stranger. He'll know that I care about him because I'll be home. I can't run off any time you ask, Jane."

"You can bring him when he's older."

"You don't get it," she grumbled. "Everything is always about you in the end. Your case, your feelings, your thoughts. You get so involved in your cases that you don't time to think of anyone else."

"I thought of you."

"Because you couldn't find anyone else. You would've given an arm and a leg to get me here. You don't even care that I dropped everything for you, do you? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Jane is getting what she wants."

"I thought of you because you're the only person I trust."

"You used to trust a lot of people. You used to have more friends and your little network. Now, you do everything yourself. You never see your parents who adore and love you. You ignore your brother despite all the favors he's done for you. If Arnold really didn't care, then why did he save you in France? You wouldn't have gotten out of that bunker alone. You can't do everything on your own."

Jane froze. She hardly thought of France anymore. She tried forgetting it. The more time she spent working, the less time she spent remembering. She recalled needles, hard fists, swift kicks, lashes, and water. Lots of water. She could hear the gunfire and boots. She could still smell the smoke on Arnold's jacket. She shuddered. He told her he took care of the commander himself. He was the only one who didn't face the firing squad.

Vivian realized what she'd said and stood from her chair. "Jane…" she said, "I'm-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"-I'm going for a drink."

"Jane," she said, "Jane, wait."

Jane ignored her. She went downstairs towards the bar and ordered a drink. She tossed back the first drink Harry gave and ordered a second. She ignored the noise and people around her. She tried shaking the memories off. She hated them. She wouldn't let them win. She took up the second, and then the third. The burning sensation in her throat kept them at bay. She'd been so weak back then. The job made her feel invincible. She liked going from man to man, discovering secrets and relaying them back. She'd been helping her countrymen survive. Arnold said her information saved hundreds of British lives. Then they found out. She drank a fourth.

"Finn, what the hell you doing, lad?"

Harry asked the youngest Shelby, who'd climbed onto the bar top. They all watched him take down The King's portrait. Jane couldn't bear looking at it. She hated seeing those cold eyes staring down at her. "We're having a fire," Finn said. The small boy hopped off the bar and several people followed.

John approached Harry and paid him to bring beer to Watery Lane. Jane already knew what they'd planned. Tommy would've eventually fired back at Campbell for the raids. She grabbed her coat from upstairs and left the tavern. The idea might strike a blow at Campbell, but it could be fatal for others. She raced to Watery Lane where she saw dozens of people in the street. Children carried portraits down to the fire. Peaky Blinders paid people for theirs. Everyone felt the excitement of the event. Tommy's men sealed off both ends of the street with their cars and only let in people with paintings. Jane pushed passed them despite their calls. She needed to see Tommy. People surrounded a large fire, drinking and cheering. The familiar cracking and smell of burning wood filled the air. No one there had a single care about the danger. To them, there was no Copycat. It was a celebration for them. It was a hunting ground for Copycat.

"Tommy," she came to him, "What are you doing?"

Tommy stood alongside his brothers at the fire's edge. He finished his cigarette and said, "Making a statement."

"What statement?"

"That the King should be loyal to his people. He shouldn't look down and see what's happening. The Inspector had men come into our homes, harass our women and destroy our belongings. We went through Hell for him and he disgraces us."

She snorted, "Right. And burning his pictures will help you? It'll only bring down more hammers on your head."

"You worked for him," he said. "Certainly you know-"

"-I know more than you think, Shelby," she spat. "I know more than you do! You think you-" She stopped herself. She needed to stay on topic. "Stop this. Now. This is the perfect opportunity for him. All these people, all this commotion and booze, only lets him blend in with the crowd. The women here aren't safe. No one is safe when he's around. He'll kill tonight if he has the chance."

Tommy noticed the change in subject. "Then you'll have another body to examine," he said instead.

"I don't want another body," she said. "I want to catch him before he kills."

"We don't always get what we want, do we?" he asked. "If he kills tonight, you get what you want. If Winston Churchill reads what happened tonight, then I get what I want. The reporter can write about your problem too. Then more people will know what is going on."

"So then can intervene and take over?" she said. "Having them sniffing around will only slow things down. This isn't a time to slow down."

"You just don't want anyone helping you."

"They slow me down."

"I didn't seem to slow you down last night."

"Because you had nothing better to do."

"No, because I care about the people here," he said. "They depend on my men and me to protect them. I can't have law and order if someone is going around breaking it. Business can't thrive if there's chaos in the streets. There are rules here, Jane. This man isn't following them."

"Didn't know I was speaking to the lawman around here," she said. "Have fun with your fire."

"Jane…"

She felt her head swimming. Water stung her skin. Blood spewed from her mouth. Metal nails sparked with electricity. She couldn't breathe with the rag over her face and the water pouring down. She struggled against tight grips and snipping scissors. Jane leaned against a wall, clutching her chest as it grew tighter. She closed her eyes and saw blurry faces in dim lighting. Jane kicked against people who weren't there. Her body became stiff and she trembled. She felt their hands. She felt their fists and kicks. She pleaded to the laughter around her.

"Jane? Jane!" Jane moved away from the hands coming towards her. "Jane! It's me! It's Vivian!"

"Stop!"

"Jane! Please! Jane!"

Jane remembered pliers at her fingernails and the patches of hair on her head. She screamed. She felt the cold ground underneath her. She tried pushing the slender figure back. "Jane! Jane, please! You're home, Jane! You're home in England! Nobody's hurting you here! You're safe, Jane! You're safe!"

The faint scent of lavender hit her nostrils. Her fingers gripped the damp pavement beneath her. She heard the cheering crowd and the boots walking by the alleyway. She shivered at the bitter cold touching her cheeks. She looked around and saw the alleyway she'd stumbled into. Vivian sat straddled on her. Worry filled her green eyes, and she brushed the hair from Jane's face. Her soft fingers warmed Jane's cheeks. They wiped away the tears wetting her lashes. She took in more lavender perfume.

"Wha-Uh-" she stuttered. "I-I did it, didn't I?"

"You did," Vivian said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Jane rested her head back and gasped for air. The tightness began clearing up as Vivian helped her to her feet. She felt the full nails on her fingertips. They'd taken ages to grow back. Vivian hugged her, but Jane couldn't hug her back. "Should I stay another day?" Vivian asked in her ear, "I'll stay if you-"

"-No, go home to Ja-James," she said. "I'll-I'll be fine. I know how much you love him. Go home and be a proper mother."

"Jane…"

A sudden shriek ripped through the conversation. Jane's head whipped towards the continuing path between buildings. Someone bolted her way until the crashed into her. Lizzie Stark stood sobbing and clamping a hand over her mouth. Tears streaked her cheeks and she simply shook her head.

"Lizzie?" Jane asked. She tried hiding her shaking hands. "What happened?"

"Oh Jane, it's a-awful!" Lizzie wept. She looked down the alley, "I was walking home and-and I-I found here lying there! There's blood everywhere and-and-Oh my God, it's terrible!"

"Jane," Vivian took her hand, "We'll go get the police. You should go to bed."

"No," Jane shook her head.

"Jane, please."

"No!"

Jane stormed passed the two of them and went down the alley. A small courtyard in the center was their crime scene. The woman sat slumped against a wall, her throat cut twice. Her dress ripped open, Jane didn't see any incisions and cuts anywhere on the torso. Wobbly knees took her towards the body, where she bent down. She pushed away her attack. She tried forgetting the sounds and faces. She ran her hands through her thick, full hair. Jane felt the soft curls, sensing no bald patches there. She was home, she was home, she was home. She wasn't in the bunker. She was in a side-street with a Copycat victim. Jane was home.

She focused on the body lying in front of her. She dove into it.

' _Young woman between 25 to 35-years-old. No sign of assault. Throat slashed twice. One injury right on top of the other; cutting the jugular arteries and vocal chords. Clean cuts mean a longer, thinner knife. He knows exactly where to cut to keep them from screaming.'_ She looked at her dress, touching the dry fabric. She sniffed the dress and through the blood she smelled bread. Baked bread? Flour on the fingertips and under her nails suggested she'd just put it to bake. _'She'd finished when she came out here.'_ She saw an archway leading from another side-street. _'He came through there. He waited until she left her lodgings and attacked her. Perhaps he's done baiting them.'_ The knocked over bin said he'd pushed it over. She would've thought it was a cat or a child. With everyone at the bonfire, she wouldn't have thought it was anyone dangerous. She turned back to the victim. Her mouth appeared slightly ajar. Jane parted the dead woman's lips and found another five-penny. _'Another token of worthlessness.'_

"Jane?" Vivian came to her side, "Oh God…"

"He did it again."

"How do you know it's him? He didn't cut her open."

' _The ripped dress…'_ "He'd started but didn't finish. He must've heard someone coming and dashed. Dash…"

Jane left the body and looked around the area. "Jane," Vivian said, "Moss is on his way. You should go back to the pub. You need some sleep."

"He could've dropped something," she said. "He _would've_ dropped something."

"This isn't healthy," Vivian said. "I know things have been hard since France. They were hard for everyone."

Jane stepped about and saw it. In a thick mud patch was a boot print. About ten inches in length, Copycat had wide feet. The mud would've splashed on his shoe as he ran away. This wasn't a whole lot of help seeing as most men in Small Heath probably own boots. She narrowed it down to a dock man or butcher. They wear boots for work. Each one would have knowledge of anatomy or at least have similar tools. Yet, they wouldn't have money for opium, especially the powdered kind. Anyone could've thought the cuttings were simply good guesses. Jane shook her head. No, Copycat doesn't guess. He knows. A medical student might not wear boots while he works, but he would for camouflage.

He'd used the fire as Jane said he would. Yet, having done it so close by, Lizzie interrupted him. She didn't think he'd be so careless in location. Copycat didn't finish this one.

"He's going to do it again," she said.

"Enough of this," Vivian said. "I'm taking you back to the pub."

"No, Vivian," Jane said. "He'll kill again tonight. Don't you see? He has a ritual. Operating on them is his signature. He needs to take something from them! He didn't take anything from her!"

"Jane, if he almost got caught, what makes him think he won't-"

"-Because anyone who can stop him is at Tommy's stupid fire!"

"You need to rest. Let's go back to The Garrison."

"I don't fucking want to go back to The Garrison!"

"Ladies?"

Tommy appeared with John and Arthur. Tommy didn't even glance at the dead woman, but his brothers did. They both took off their hats, holding them to their chests. He wasn't even concerned. He only stared at Jane. Jane glared, "What did I tell you?! What did I tell you, you ignorant bastard?!" She reached for him, but Vivian held her back. "Look what you did! You let him do it! You had to go have your stupid fire and look what happened! You don't care about these people! If you did, you'd be trying to stop him! You only care about your stupid ambitions! Get off me, Viv!" Her anger flashed over her body. She began shaking again. She took a breath, but it did no good. "You-You bastard…"

"Jane," Vivian kept her on her feet, "Let's go. You men can stay here until the police come."

"What's wrong with her?" Tommy asked, looking Jane over.

"Nothing," Vivian lied. "She polished off a bottle of whiskey is all. She'll be right in the morning."

Jane saw flashes of a man's face inches from hers. He threatened her, but she couldn't hear him. "N-n-no…"

"Come on, Jane. Let's go home. Come on now."

Vivian half-walked half-dragged her towards The Garrison. Jane didn't sleep that night.


	9. Chapter 9

"You were right. He killed again. Twice in one night."

Jane and Vivian stood in a side street just off Kensington. This street was a few blocks away from last night's fire. Before them lied another woman. He'd cut her in the exact fashion as the first, but he'd finished. They'd placed a blanket over the body for the inch of dignity left. Jane couldn't have felt more disappointed. Uniformed officers kept a barrier between the onlookers and the scene. Moss would have a hard time keeping this a secret. Jane walked around the corpse. Lifting up the blanket, she saw the typical slashes about the throat and bosom. She wasn't sure what he'd taken this time. Judging by the groin lacerations, it wasn't any different. Jane felt instant regret. She should've caught him. If she'd looked out for him, she could've caught him.

"There's not much here, Ms. Dawes." Moss walked over to her, and sighed, "He gave us the slip again."

"No," she said. She stared around the perimeter, "You're just not looking hard enough. Tell me about the victims."

"Well, the first was Abigail March," he said. "She was a mother of two and worked in a bakery."

"A mother of two who worked in a bakery?"

"What about the second?"

"Victoria Graham, a seamstress from Kensington."

"A baker and a seamstress?" Vivian questions. "That doesn't make any sense. He kills women he thinks are beneath him. Prostitutes are usually the first ones."

"He thinks all women are beneath him," she answered. "Prostitutes are at the bottom. Now, he's moved on to women who have feminine jobs."

"What?" Moss raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, he considers sewing and baking for women." Jane scanned the body from beneath the sheet. She found no sign of anything shiny. She supposed it'd fallen deep inside her like the third victim. Then she examined Victoria's hand. "See?" she motioned for a glove, which she used to retrieve the penny. "He left a coin just like the others. He's building his own signature now."

"So, he's not such a copycat anymore," Vivian said.

"No, he's still sticking to them," she said. "He's adding his own twist. Moss, have them both taken to the mortuary-"

"-Already done, Miss." When Jane gave him an impressed look, he said, "I thought it'd be the most logical thing to do. You can study them there without any interruptions."

"Vivian?" Jane turned to her, "Will you look at them?"

Vivian nodded, "I'll stay to look them over, and then I'm gone."

"James will miss his mother," Jane told her. "Your own will just nag at you."

"I'm used to her nagging," she said. "I know my son is in good hands, despite how reluctant they are."

"Ms. Dawes! Excuse me, Ms. Dawes?"

A bespectacled gentleman waving a notepad stood with the crowd. "Gerald Irons," he said, "Evening Dispatch! Might I ask a few questions, please? It's for the paper!"

"No comment, Mr. Irons," Jane called back.

"Mr. Shelby informed me it's gone on for a while, is that true?! Are the police protecting a lunatic?! The people have a right to know!" The crowd stirred at the allegation.

"We are not!" Moss said affronted.

"Mr. Shelby said the crimes are quite gruesome," he said. "Why won't the police release details? What are you hiding, Ms. Dawes?! Who brought you into the case?!"

"No comment."

"Are you by any chance related to Arnold Dawes? The right-hand man of Winston Churchill?"

"Like I said, Mr. Irons, no comment."

Jane turned back to the body. Threads and needles made light marks on her fingertips. Her messy bun told Jane she had been on her way home. The side street leading into Garrison Lane was where he waited for her. Looking at the blood splatter on the wall, he'd gotten her from behind.

"Jane," Vivian said, picking something off the ground, "Look at this."

Jane moved to Vivian. In her hand was a small white packet emblazoned by a white and gold dragon. "How could he drug her?"

Vivian bent down over Victoria, and used a pin to look at the nostrils. "I know how," she said, "She was an addict. Your killer must've known this or suspected. Judging by her shallow face and the dark circles under her eyes, it wouldn't have been hard to spot. Only a doctor would know the signs."

"Or someone who's familiar with the symptoms." Jane crouched beside her.

"Jane, I got a theory."

"Yes?"

"What if that's why he hates women?" she said. "Maybe he knew a woman who abused opium in his childhood, and it made him dislike the weakness of it. Addicts cannot stand being without their libations. This person would've used often and around her child."

"It's a start. We'll know more once we study the other victim."

Jane searched the rest of the area. Seeing the unbuttoned blouse, he did not rip it off her. He didn't need to force her. In the haze of the opium, she might've done it without persuasion.

"Um, Jane?"

Vivian tapped her shoulder and Jane looked around. The policemen made an opening for Tommy to walk in. Jane ignored him. She wasn't interested in speaking to him at the moment. The utter embarrassment of last night lingered in her mind. He'd known. He'd seen the same thing in his army comrades. Jane's episodes weren't as bad as some others, but they caused her restless nights. Tommy knew, and he'd bring it up with her. She lifted the blanket once more. She had cuts like the previous victims. They made with the same knife as well. A medical kit. He had to have some sort of kit.

"Mr. Shelby!" Irons called out to him, "Are you helping in this investigation?!"

"Psh," Jane scoffed to herself, "If only a smidge."

He met Jane at her level, not at all bothered by the mangled corpse. "She wasn't a whore," Tommy said. "I knew her. She worked in a shop Polly goes to."

"Tell your aunt she's going to need a new seamstress."

"Jane," he began, "About last night-"

"-I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"Does that happen often?"

"It's none of your business. Why did you call a reporter?" she asked. "Why did you tell him what I was doing?"

"Because it'll bring Campbell further into the light. People won't trust him if they think he's protecting a murderer."

"What happened to keep law and order in the city? Protecting the people? Was that all just talk to pacify me?"

"People shouldn't trust Campbell to begin with," he said. "His disinterest in these murders proves that much."

"Not to mention his persistence in a stolen shipment of weapons."

"I have that dealt with," he said.

"I can't work if he interferes," she said. "Don't drag me into your little war."

"He won't be bothering you again." When she stared, he said, "I made you part of our deal. I'd give him what he wanted if he agreed to leave my businesses alone. I included your investigation in there as well. I told him you're just a woman doing your job."

"And what did he say?"

'That my protection over you was sweet."

"I don't need protection."

"Of course not," he said, "But it doesn't hurt to have some."

"And you're doing such a wonderful job by bringing in a reporter," she said.

"Is your brother helping you, Ms. Dawes?!" Irons asked. "Is the government covering this up as well?!"

"See?" she said. "They always have some sort of scandalous idea of things. He'll only warp it to fit the paper's agenda." Just as they'd done with The Ripper, they will embellish the story. "And don't you have your own problems right now? I would imagine Campbell isn't happy that you embarrassed him. 'Inspector Raids Innocents' Homes' I believe was the headline?"

"I can handle him," he said.

"Not for long. Whenever they mention The King in the paper, the government must approve it first. I'm sure Winston Churchill read the article. They'll call in someone to sort Campbell out and keep him focused on his true purpose."

They'll call Arnold. He's their cleaner.

"Campbell doesn't know where they are yet."

"He'll find them one way or another. He'll disregard any deal you make with him and arrest you."

"As if you'd care?"

"I wouldn't," she said. "I only warning you."

Tommy paused. She saw his eyes look over her face. They rested on hers for a moment or two. Beneath his cold expression, he admired her. She stared away from him. He then said, "I'm going to the Cheltenham races in a week or so. Would you like to-"

"-No."

"Billy Kimber will be there."

"So?"

"I think you'd like to talk to him."

"Why would I care about a crime lord disguised as a horse track owner?"

"Because, from what I heard, he isn't nice to women."

Jane stopped her examination and looked at him. "What?"

"A girl I know said he forced himself on her," he continued. "He likes hurting them. I thought that might be someone of interest to you. He likes having things his way, you see. He doesn't care too much about what women want or think."

She hesitated, "What's in it for you?"

"What? Can't I want to take a beautiful woman somewhere nice?"

"No," she said. "What do you want with Billy Kimber?"

"I have plans," he said. "They involve meeting Mr. Kimber. I'd like you to come."

"Why? So I can be a bargaining chip? No, thank you. I'm not for sale."

"Jane, I'm only helping you. If you can get close enough, you can learn more about him. I can help you."

"Mr. Shelby-"

"-I think we can skip formalities now-"

"-Tommy," she said, "You can't keep moving between helping and not helping. Pick a side and stay on it."

He gave a small smirk, "I want to help you."

"For the moment."

"No, 'til the end."

"Wouldn't my investigation get in the way of your precious plans?"

"It doesn't now."

"Why?"

"It'd be helpful to your case," he said. "You asked for help and I'm giving it to you. If he turns out not to be your man, then you had a nice time at a horse race. We can even bet against each other if you like. It'd give you a reason to gloat afterward."

"You had me at 'gloat afterward'," she said. She sighed, "What's his type?"

"What?"

"Does he like the shy wallflower, the seductive temptress or the flirty kitten?" she asked. "Most men like him like flirty kittens or wallflowers, but I've never met him."

Tommy said, "I'd say kitten."

She smiled, "Perfect."

"Wear something pretty," he told her, both of them standing together. "Red, like his handkerchief, but then again, I'm nobody to tell you what to wear."

"Exactly," She turned away from him, "Good day, Mr. Shelby."

Red was always her color.

* * *

"He asked you out, didn't he?"

Vivian's teasing smile wasn't something she needed at the moment. Jane and she stood in the mortuary of the station. Victoria Graham lied on the slab, already pale and cold since her death. Vivian set to work sterilizing the instruments. "No," she said, "He agreed to help me."

"How?"

"By taking me to meet Billy Kimber," she said.

"Who's he?" Vivian grabbed her pins and forceps and began peeling back the cut skin.

"He owns most of the legal race tracks outside of London," she explained. "He also happens to be the leader of the Birmingham Boys."

"Ah a legal and illegal businessman, eh?"

"Something similar. Thomas says he has an affinity for abusing women. He thinks if I talk to Kimber, I can find out more."

"And you think he'll immediately confess once you ask him?"

"If only it were that easy," she chuckled. "I'll come up with something. Billy Kimber is a big crime boss with an ego-inflated head. I think he'd enjoy a playful sex kitten, don't you?"

Vivian laughed as she put in the last pin. "Most men like him do. I think that lavender dress of yours would be perfect."

"The short one with the beading?"

"That one," she said.

"I was thinking something red," she said. "Tommy said it'd match his-"

"-Oh, I wasn't talking about Kimber. I was talking about Tommy."

"Excuse me?"

Vivian brought a light closer to the exposed organs. "He doesn't have such an outward personality," she said. "He keeps all his emotions behind his stony face. He'd like a cool tone much more than anything vibrant or warm."

"This isn't about impress-"

"-He's a handsome man who's taking you to a nice place," Vivian argued. "When was the last time you went on a date?"

"It's not a date," Jane said. "It's work."

"No, Jane. _This_ is work," she gestured to the body. She looked down and began poking around. "The kidneys are still intact. From what I see, the heart is still in place which makes two of us."

"I don't date, Vivian."

"No, you dip and dash," she said. She felt around the stomach and intestines, "Is it because of last night? Were you embarrassed he saw you that way?"

"I don't care how he saw me…"

Jane felt her stomach knot. Most people never saw her episodes. The only other person who saw them was her landlady. She kept the long, grueling nights to herself. She never shared why she hated painting her own nails. She told people she stuck to a curly long bob because she liked the style. The last person she'd share anything with would be Tommy. "Find anything?"

"Not yet…" she looked a bit more, "Ah-ha. Liver's missing."

"So he takes kidneys and livers," she said. "Those are usually parts of animals people eat."

"Oh God," Vivian groaned, "Don't tell me he's eating them?"

"It's a possibility," Jane said. "It's also likely. The Ripper hinted he'd done the same with the things he took."

"At least we can keep that out of the papers."

"That Irons man talked to you too?"

"He tried," she said. "I didn't tell him anything important. I only cautioned women to be alert when they leave at night."

"Because that's not a dead giveaway."

"It's kept him away for now." She contemplated the body, then said, "Don't you think it's odd that Tommy asked you to go? It'd be much easier for him than if he dragged you along."

"He has other things on his mind," Jane said.

"Like what?"

"Plans."

"What plans?" Vivian began studying other parts of the body.

"Horse track plans," Jane said. "Tommy runs a gambling den that bets on horses. Kimber can help him become legitimate."

"Opium user," Vivian said, "You were right. She used often. There's white powder on the brim of the nostrils. She also has severe damage on the inside. I suspect she's been using for quite a while."

"And Abigail, the other victim?" she asked.

"Same," she said. She handed Jane a notepad, "I noted it when I examined her. At least there's another pattern."

"Women who use or abuse drugs."

"You know," Vivian began, "Tommy might be helping you by helping himself. It's not as bad as you make it sound. People do that all the time."

"Yes, I'm familiar with it, Vivian. My brother works for the government. Is her uterus missing?"

"It is," she answered. "You can't stand there and tell me he's not attractive?"

"He is," she said, "Generally speaking."

"And he thinks you're gorgeous."

"A lot of men do."

She stopped and said, "He was in the war too, you know. John told me he won medals for gallantry. He saved an officer's life in battle."

"So you're friends with John now?"

"We talk when we see one another."

"When do you see him?"

"When he's come in the pub," she said. "He's funny and a lot smarter than he lets on. He's also been quite-"

"-Anything else you found, Viv?"

Vivian pursed her lips, "No. She's the same as the others."

"Good," Jane said.

"What about the coins?"

"Nothing, he used gloves. The only ones there are hers."

"I think we've hit a wall, Jane," she said. "I suppose going to this derby might dig up something for us."

"Maybe."


	10. Chapter 10

The lavender dress didn't look so terrible. Reaching a little above the knee, shiny beading decorated the overlay. She paired it with a matching handbag and white heels. She hoped this was enough to entice Kimber. She finished applying her lipstick before heading downstairs. Men ogled at her from their tables, but nobody dared approach her. She saw Harry leaning against the register, reading the Evening Dispatch. She sighed.

For the past week and a half, Copycat remained quiet. Abigail March and Victoria Graham's families laid them to rest. The coins sat in the station's evidence locker. Vivian left the morning after the double murder, though wrote when she could. Jane couldn't stand the waiting. Her nerves stayed on edge, and she spent nights anticipating some news. She'd written down possible theories. She contemplated the crime scenes and took in the state of the victims. Most of all searched for the opium source. The little packet still sat on her desk. She'd shown it to known users and dealers, but they said nothing. The newspaper's intrusion wasn't helpful either.

' _Alleyway Butcher Still Loose'_ read the headline in bold letters. Mr. Irons did no favors by asking around town about the murders. People poured their insane theories to him and he wrote them all. Jane read them. Most of it was absolute rubbish. He'd only mentioned Abigail and Victoria; not the others who'd died before them. Nobody cared about prostitutes dying. Jane sighed seeing Harry reading one against the bar.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"Reading the paper like a normal person," he folded it and put it down. "Need anything?"

"No," she said. "I don't drink before work."

"You should see the stuff they wrote about you," he said.

Oh yes, they'd written a good deal about her. "What did they say?"

"They said your brother is some high-ranking government official. They think he's the one who put you onto it because the government wants to cover up the murders. Allegedly, the killer could be a doctor or a surgeon. They even suggested it could be a butcher."

"They're not completely wrong," she responded. "They'd write that because scandals sell more papers."

"I hope you catch this man soon," he said. "People are starting to get restless. There're rumors about smashing up the meat markets. They think he's a butcher. It's only a matter of time before there's riots in the streets. This needs to stop before it gets worse."

"That's what I'm here about. Any news from Freddie?"

"Ah yes," he nodded. He reached under the bar and slipped her a letter. "One of his friends brought it in."

"Thank you." She tore open the letter.

' _Dear Jane,_

 _Unfortunately, there isn't much chatter going on in my end of the wire. A few IRA members were whispering about the shipment Tommy stole. Apparently, they plan to confront him about them. I'm guessing they're gonna make some sort of deal._

 _I looked into Billy Kimber for you. Tommy's right. A couple of working girls told me he was regular. He comes down for the races and pays for a whole night. One of the madams banned him from her brothel a while back. The poor girl came out battered and beaten from what he did. She said he asked her for the backdoor and she wouldn't give it to him. So he took it instead. A part of me hopes he is your man, Jane. He doesn't deserve a prison cell. He deserves a grave._

 _Malacki Bryne is telling the truth. I spoke to one of his comrades, the one you fought. He said that Malacki is laying low for the time being. That inspector isn't hunting just communists. He's looking for anyone he can arrest for anything. I thought he'd be more interested in your case seeing as he's itching to put someone in prison. He left before the murders started, Maguire told me._

 _I already know about Ada, but thank you for telling me. I attached a letter for her. Would you give it to her? I don't want her to think I've abandoned her. I love her, Jane. I'd do anything for her. I just can't come back right away. I'll figure something out. I'm not afraid of Tommy._

 _Signed,_

 _Freddie.'_

She folded the letter and put it in her purse. Jane wasn't surprised by the news. Billy Kimber definitely stood as a person of interest now. She supposed agreeing to the outing was a good idea. Pulling out a cigarette from her case, she lit one. Jane hadn't attended a derby in years. Her father was a fan, so he'd always drag the family along. Jane recalled the box they'd sit in. He'd stand there and cheer on his horse while she and Arnold played their 'deduction game'. Arnold hadn't liked them much either, but he knew how to keep appearances. Jane didn't.

"He's here," Harry said, nodding to the window.

She spotted Tommy's car outside the tavern. Jane sighed. Taking her purse, she bid Harry a good day and walked outside. "Tommy," she nodded, getting into the car beside him.

His eyes fell over her. He said, "This is a flirty kitten?"

She laughed, "You haven't seen anything yet."

* * *

They reached the jockey's stables where the riders prepared themselves for the race. A few of them glanced Jane's way, but she ignored them. It wasn't normal for women to be there. Tommy ushered her past them and kept his head down.

"He isn't expecting you, is he?" she asked.

"Not entirely," he answered.

"Does he even know who you are?"

"He does," he said. "I took some time to get his attention."

"How?"

"I fixed a race without his permission."

They finally reached the entrance into the ballroom. Jane and he waited in the back of the queue as the bouncer let people inside. "Alright," he said, "When we reach the door, you do the talking. You're Lady Sarah of Connemara and I'm your guest."

"And let me guess, you don't speak English?"

"Exactly."

"How original…" Jane didn't tell him. She only smirked to herself as they came to the velvet rope.

"Name?" the large man asked, holding his clipboard.

"Jane Dawes," she replied. Tommy shot her a wide-eyed glance, but she ignored him.

The man scanned the list twice. Jane's stomach churned a second seeing his heavily focused. Perhaps she'd been wrong this time? She couldn't be. "Ah yes, here you are," the man finally said. Jane breathed a sigh of relief. "Jane Ophelia Dawes and guest. Your father's waiting for you in Box 5; top tier and to the left."

"Thank you," she smiled before crossing the rope.

Cheltenham was exactly how she expected. Gold décor with lights and flowers twirled around the tall columns. A band played on stage as a trio of girls danced to the music. Waiters walked around with drink trays in their hands. It wasn't anything Jane didn't know. Everyone dressed in the refinery and luxury of the upper class. They hardly paid attention to the couple walking through one of the tiers. Nobody cared. Jane could never stand the selfishness. She glanced back at Tommy. Someone like him didn't belong here. Then again, she didn't either.

Tommy brought her closer to his side. "What was that?" he whispered.

"Me using my real name?" she said. "I don't need a fake one. My father comes to these derbies all the time. He ensures my brother and I are on the list in case we decide to attend. We both hate them, of course, but he does it anyways. Arnold only comes if important people are here."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"I wanted to see the look on your face," she chuckled. "Come on, let's get moving."

They stayed on the second tier where they both watched people dance. She suddenly stiffened. The only times she and Tommy were alone was around a dead body. Today, she stood alone with him. His jaw line perfectly clean-shaven, she detected aftershave on his face. His tailored suit fit his frame, and his peaked cap folded in his pocket. She supposed nobody would see the razor blades in the peak. He even cut his hair. She looked away before he noticed her watching him. She coughed and said, "So, who did you bet on?"

"My horse," he said, "Monaghan Boy. You?"

"Princess Petal," she said. "He's my father's horse." He'd given the horse her pet name, but she wouldn't tell him that.

"Your father races horses?"

"Sometimes. He thought he'd give it a go since he's such a fan of them. Being the Police Commissioner, it wasn't hard for him to do it."

"Your father's the police commissioner?"

"He is," she nodded. "He was in the military and then he became a constable. He was a Chief Inspector for a long time before he got the position. I suppose that's where Arnold and I get our interests from. What about yours?"

"He told fortunes and stole horses," he sighed. "He'd tell a man that his horse would be stolen and they'd marvel at his powers when it was." They both shared a soft laugh. "My mother was a gypsy, you see, so people believed him."

"Really? That sounds fun. My mother's only a wealthy socialite who's part of a bunch of charity boards. She's not much different than the women down there," Jane motioned to the women below. "She grew up wealthy so she acts like it."

"And you don't want that?"

"I never fit in with the girls at my school," she said. "I did get along with most of them and I attended their dinner parties. I dated boys in my class and tried being sociable. It was just…"

"What?"

"They were so boring!" she confessed. "All they did was gossip over tea and backstab each other. They cared so much about appearances and their image. I hardly ever carried any sort of conversation with them. I sort of just sat there and deduced them."

"What about Vivian?"

Jane smiled, "She's different. We're childhood friends. Her parents are old family friends, so she came to our house often. She isn't boring. Not in the slightest."

"You two do seem close."

"She's the only person I trust anymore," she said. "I can never count on anyone else."

A silence fell between them for a moment. "Do you dance?" he asked.

"Occasionally."

"Then may I have this dance?"

Jane looked him up and down. She said, "Sure."

Tommy took her hand and they walked to the lower dance floor. The band struck up a new song and the crowd moved to its beat. Putting her hand in his, Tommy came closer to her. His hand slipped around her waist and she pretended she couldn't feel it. She knew Kimber would see them. Whether he reached out or not was up to him.

"You plan to make a deal with him then?" she asked as they danced.

"I do," he confirmed. "If you want to move up in the world, you have to knock down a few walls."

"Weak ones," she added. "Kimber's gone soft."

"How would you know?"

"You wouldn't be hitting above your weight if he wasn't," she said.

"You're too observant for your own good," he said. "Did you know that?"

"Oh I know that very well," she answered. When he tried hiding his smile, she said, "So you do smile after all…"

He didn't speak for a moment. His eyes fell on her lips, but he didn't lean into her. "It slips sometimes," he replied.

"It's nice," she told him. "You should try doing it more often."

She stunned him. She saw the cogs in his head turning for a comeback. He looked at her lips again before meeting her eyes. Tommy drew nearer, so much so she could already taste his lips. She tilted her head sideways and closed her eyes. The anticipation bubbled in her stomach. Her hand squeezed his in excitement. Then he stopped. The atmosphere dissipated the second he noticed something else. Without a word, he pushed them both through the slew of dancers towards a side door. Arthur came through the door, dumping a bunch of sacks on the floor at their feet. She saw them all filled to the tops with money and betting slips. He'd stolen them from Kimber's bookies, no doubt.

"Is this everything?" Tommy asked Arthur.

"That's everything," he said. Arthur noticed Jane in her dress, "You look nice. You should wear that to the pub sometime."

"The Lee family give you any trouble?" Tommy questioned.

"Eh, nothing we couldn't handle," Arthur smirked pointing to the bloody cut on his face.

"Good," he patted his brother's shoulder. "Give the boys a free round at The Garrison."

"Will do. Good luck."

Arthur left through the back way and Tommy lifted up the bags. "Stay by the bar."

"Why?"

"Please, Jane," he said, "For once, don't ask questions. Just do it."

Jane nodded. She wouldn't admit to the disappointment in her gut. It meant nothing. It was normal. She didn't care. She sat at the bar and ordered a drink. Once she had it, she found Kimber's table. Tommy talked with Kimber and another man, the contents of the bags all over the table. They seemed interested in what Tommy told them. She supposed it'd work after all.

"Princess! You made it!"

Her father, George Dawes, strode towards her holding a drink. White hair slicked back, his immaculate suit matched his shiny shoes. and gold pocket watch. Blue eyes twinkled at her in his smile. Jane felt relieved seeing him. He kissed her cheek and took the seat beside her. His hugs never came without a familiar tobacco scent. Jane never minded it on him. It was home for her.

"Dad," she said, "I thought you'd be in your booth by now. The race should be starting soon."

"Your mother wanted to dance with your brother," he said. "I told her 'two minutes, Joanne, and then we're off!' but you know your mother."

Jane snorted. Arnold hated dancing. "She's only trying to enjoy herself, Dad."

"I know. I know you lot don't care for the races like I do. But, this is something we could all do as a family. We hardly see you both anymore." Then he asked, "What brings you here, Princess?"

"A case."

He chortled, "Oh I forgot. Jane, our little detective, find any missing cats lately?"

"No, but I have caught robbers and murderers," she said. "In fact, I'm looking into those alleyway murders."

Her father's amusement vanished. "The ones in Birmingham?"

"The very same."

"Jane…" she heard his concern, "Those aren't murders you can prance around. They are dangerous, especially for a woman like you. You should stick to your missing jewelry and scorned housewives. Leave cases like that to professionals."

"I am a professional, Dad," she said. "I know what I'm doing."

"No, you're not, Jane. You're a woman who's too smart for her own good. I…" he sighed, gulping his drink, "I don't want it to happen to you again, Princess."

Jane gave a soft smile. She touched his hand and kissed his cheek. "I'll be fine, Dad. I promise."

"Then what is it that brings you here?"

"Billy Kimber."

"What do you want with him?"

"He's a suspect."

Her father laughed over his drink, "Oh darling. You're barking up the wrong tree."

"Sorry?"

"I've known Billy Kimber for a long time," he explained. "He might be shady, but he isn't capable of something like that."

"You're defending him?"

"No. I'm only stating a fact, Jane. Billy Kimber and I have an understanding. He gives me the information I need, and he stays out of prison."

"He's your informant? Eh, he seems the type. Why not throw him in prison?"

"What you've always failed to see about the world, Janey," he began. "Is you can't always catch the bad man and lock him up. Sometimes, you have to let them go. The world needs people like Billy Kimber. They keep the peace and order that we never could. Much of the lower class doesn't trust the police; most of them have a right to. Yet, they listen and obey the rules of people such as Kimber. They do the same with Solomons of the Jewish gang and Sabini of the Italians. One informs me about the other, and everybody stays free. Kimber might be slimy, but he isn't stupid. He wouldn't risk his neck for thrill kills."

"I suppose you're right," she said. She'd heard similar words from someone else. She glanced back over to Tommy, seeing him light a cigarette as he talked. "I have to go, Dad. I think my date is looking for me."

"A date? You brought someone?"

"Someone brought me."

"Lucky boy," he smiled. He kissed her cheek, "Perhaps you two can swing by for supper sometime? Maybe this one will be _the one_." He grabbed his drink and searched for her mother on the dance floor.

She heard the hope in his voice. It's been the same as all the other times. Jane left the bar for the table, plastering a giddy smile. "Tommy!" she pitched her voice slightly, "There you are! I've been looking for you!" She took the seat separating Tommy from Kimber. Kimber's eyes swept over her shapely figure in the tight dress.

"Kitten," he said, "Can't you see I'm having a conversation?"

"But Tommy…" she traced the buttons of his shirt as she whined, "I want to dance. Dance with me?"

"I'm talking with Mr. Kimber, darling," he said. This wasn't his first performance. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kimber. My Daisy can be a little bit on the eager side." He blew smoke in the opposite direction, putting his arm around Jane. "Daisy, love, this is Billy Kimber and his accountant Roberts."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Kimber."

She put out her hand and he kissed the knuckles, "Nice to meet you." His eyes hardly left her body. "You never mentioned you had a woman. You two, uh, been together long?"

"No," she shook her head. "We met a month ago at Rothberg. My father took me along with him, and while I was at the bar, Tommy came up to me." She beamed at him, "And he was so charming too."

"Well, how could I resist such a lovely little kitten, hm?" he asked. He brought her into his lap, his hand riding up her thigh. Kimber saw the rhinestone buckle of her garter belt. "And she certainly knows how to keep a man happy."

"Only the best for you," she nuzzled his nose and giggled. "Come dance with me," she said loud enough for them to hear her. "I love it when you dance with me." She laced more than a plea into her words.

"I know you do," he said. He pushed hair from her face and said, "I have an idea, kitten."

"Yes?"

"Why don't you dance with Mr. Kimber, hm? Just until I'm done with Mr. Roberts, and then I'll come get you."

Jane saw Kimber shift in his seat. She batted her eyes at him; flaunting more than what was decent. "If Mr. Kimber doesn't mind?" She said it in the most innocent tone she could muster.

"Not at all," he said. "I don't mind keeping your girl preoccupied."

She smiled at him once more and he led her to the dance floor. He held her hand up and put his own hand on the small of her back. She said, "Tommy told me you own lots of horses. Is that true?"

"I do," he nodded. "I own this track too. I own a lot of them actually."

"Really?" she said. "Tommy owns a horse, and he lets me ride it lots of times. I really like riding horses." Her fingers brushed on the lapel of his jacket. "If you and Tommy become friends, maybe I can ride yours too?"

"Anytime you want."

She giggled again. Kimber continued attempting to impress her. She obliged. She laughed at his bland humor. She listened to all his boring stories. She made him feel as if he were the most interesting man in the world. He shuddered whenever she "accidentally" brushed against him. His hand wandered down her back and squeezed her backside. She jumped and blushed. Jane did nothing but make him feel in control of her.

When the song ended, Jane waited by the bar. She saw Tommy and Kimber in quiet conversation. They bargained now. Kimber wouldn't let her slip away. Tommy approached her after a short while. "He asked for you," he said.

"Of course he did," she replied.

"I'll get my deal if he has you for an hour or two," he said.

Jane smirked, "More than enough time. It's incredible how long men believe they actually can last. I'll wear him out and then go on my search."

"You mean," Tommy said, "You'll do it?"

"If it comes to it, I suppose. How terrible can he be?"

Tommy didn't like what he heard. Considering that he'd nearly kissed her, she assumed so. Surely he understood? Kimber wouldn't willingly let her into his home. He'd want something in return. Jane and Tommy left once the races started.

* * *

Kimber's house wasn't impressive. It reminded her of every other nouveau riche house she'd seen. New money always thought the secret to fitting in was paintings and antique furniture. Lots of them. It was almost obnoxious. The walls and furniture screamed 'look how rich I am!'. She could hear her mother's voice criticizing everything she came across. Tommy and Robert disappeared into a study while Kimber gave her a grand tour. He showed her all his expensive belongings. This was his way of showing off. He wanted her to see that she could have it all if she left Tommy. Jane had no interest in that. Yet, she kept this to herself. She asked about everything and gasped at the finer things. Daisy was a simple girl who loved shiny things. She played to that.

"This is my billiard room," he said.

She spotted the sofas against the wall. A bookshelf stood on the other side of the room. Seeing the leather-bound spines, she read names of classic novels and poetry. She occasionally saw business books. Yet, nothing about anatomy or the medical field. "Oh, a gramophone!" she rushed over to it, touching the lever on the side. "Does your wife use it?"

"Not anymore," he answered.

She caught it in the corner of her eye. Over in a glass case was a surgeon's kit. A black case revealed several shiny instruments stuck in the red velvet. She gravitated towards it. She forgot about Kimber and his gramophone. She set to work. The set appeared a little outdated. She could see where he'd tried removing the rust. This set wasn't Kimber's, but it must've had some significance. A latch kept the display case closed, yet not difficult to open. Jane looked over her shoulder at him, "What's this?"

"That was my grandfather's," he explained. "He was a surgeon before he fell on hard times. I kept it after he died."

"That's sweet," she said. "Are you a surgeon?"

Kimber laughed, "Not at all. I don't even know what most of these are for actually. I just thought it'd be an interesting conversation piece." The new money also liked "conversation pieces".

"Can I touch one?" she asked.

"I don't think you want to look at that, sweetheart. It's too sharp and you might hurt yourself."

"But, I'd like to see them up close," she pouted. "Can I? Please, Mr. Kimber?"

He looked on her fondly and pulled her to him. "Not now. Shelby told me you like games. I thought we'd play one."

"Oh I love games!" she bounced. "What game?"

"You take this," he handed her a five-penny, "And hide it. Then, it's my job to find it."

"That's silly, Mr. Kimber."

"And why's that?"

"This room's big," she said. "You'd never find it!"

"I would if you had it on you," he said, lifting her chin. "It wouldn't take me long."

"You mean in my purse?"

"No, kitten," he said. He brushed his lips against her ear. She was already sickened by the fancy cologne he doused himself in. She didn't need his alcoholic breath making things worse. "I mean under your dress."

She pretended to hide her blush, "Mr. Kimber, that's naughty. Tommy might not like it."

"He told me it was alright. You won't get in trouble."

"Okay." She gripped the coin in her hand and saw him still looking at her. "Close your eyes."

He did so. Jane took the opportunity. Silently, she unlatched the case and picked up the long curved knife first. Examining the edge, it'd easily cut through flesh. Someone recently sharpened and polished the blade. Its handle was clean. Putting it back, she took up another piece. The small saw's condition was the same. Each instrument was perfect. Kimber took great care of his grandfather's tools. Looking at the case itself, she noticed the thin layer of dust. Had he used this case, the leather would be as fine as its contents. No. Her father had been right. Kimber's innocent.

"What's taking so long?" Kimber asked annoyed.

"I'm looking for the right spot."

"Good God girl," he said, "You're a whole lot of stupid in a whole lot of pretty." He opened his eyes and saw her beside the open case. "Wha-What did I say? What did I tell you about that, hm?"

Jane froze. "I wanted to see it," she said innocently.

"There's only one thing you should want to see," he said. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her towards the couches. "Shelby said I could have you. Now, be a good girl and do what you're told."

"I don't want to play anymore."

"I wasn't asking," he said through his teeth.

"Let me go!" she said as he pressed her to the wall instead.

His hand found her throat. He squeezed it as he fumbled with himself below. When Jane managed to slip out of his grasp, he only smacked her. He slammed her into the wall, causing her head to knock back. The moment she tried getting away, he slapped her again. Blood tainted her taste buds, and she swallowed it. "You little tease," he growled. He caught her by the throat again. This time, no amount of kicking helped. Her heart thumped in her chest. She struggled for breath.

She wasn't in the billiard room anymore. She wasn't surrounded by the warm light coming into the room. Her mind plunged into the darkness of the bunker. She tried yanking off the hands of an angry German. Cold water touched her face. The sack suffocated her. Their gut-punches knocked the wind from her, and she spat blood out. She couldn't breathe. The sack muffled her screams and the water drowned her throat. She kicked against the chair and lights swung above her.

The hands pulled away from her. She heard angry voices. Jane coughed and sputtered, seeing the blood tint the water pink. Her skin stung from the harsh spray they shot at her. She cried for help. She cried for her parents. She cried for Arnold. They wouldn't stop. No matter how much she pleaded, they didn't stop. Arnold's warm arms lifted her from the floor. She shivered and continued crying.

"It's alright, Jane," he sounded different. Why did he sound so different? "You're safe. You're home in England. Nobody's hurting you here."

She didn't struggle. She let Arnold place her in the car. A car? Arnold didn't have a car in the war. Cool air touched her face. It wasn't the biting cold of winter, but a soft spring breeze. The smell of trees replaced the smoke in the air. Comforting whispers reached her instead of gunfire. The tightness within her slowly uncoiled and she could breathe again. Aftershave and cigarettes reached her nose. Tommy. Not Arnold, but Tommy. He kissed her forehead and brushed the hair from her face. She inhaled more of him. Each intake brought back the world.

"H-Home…"


	11. Chapter 11

_"Who sent you?! Who sent you?!"_

 _"You know who sent me, you German shit."_

 _The sack went back over her head and they poured more water. Tight hands held her down whenever she thrashed. She couldn't escape. They asked the same questions over and over. 'Who sent you?' 'What are their plans?' 'Tell us where we can the preparation plans'. She didn't answer. She'd rather die than betray Arnold. It went on for hours. When they finally removed the sack, it wasn't the face of a German officer. It was a faceless figure with a thin silver knife. She saw only the crack of a smug smile._

 _"Ring around Janey," it said in a sing-song voice, "Pocket full of pennies. Slashes, Slashes, she fell down."_

 _She never felt a knife so sharp._

Jane jolted out of sleep. A thin layer of sweat covered her body from head to toe. She felt the draft creep on her now, and she shivered. Catching her breath, her heart stopped rapidly beating. She'd nearly forgot where she was and what happened. She sat up on her bed and touched her throat. It was intact. The faceless figure and its morbid tune floated in her head a short while. The fear still lingered inside her chest like phlegm. She felt unsettled. Her body could set into trembles any moment. She shut her eyes and took her deep breaths. Whoever brought her home removed her dress, but kept her in her chemise. She recalled what happened earlier. Kimber tried choking her. She rubbed her throat and felt no harshness at all. Her voice wasn't even croaking. Kimber faked his strength, using it on women who were weaker than him.

Copycat isn't weak.

"Do those happen often?"

He sat at her desk, the case file in his lap and cigarette in hand. A rush of embarrassment hit her. She looked away from him and hugged herself. "Sometimes," she said. Jane wished it were Vivian and not Tommy. Vivian never questioned them. Tommy saw her fear. He'd comforted her through it. He brought her home and waited until she woke. Why would he do that?

"You called for your brother," he said. "I always understood that you didn't like him."

"We're still family," she admitted. She tossed away her headband and combed her fingers through her hair. "Wouldn't you do the same for Ada?"

"Ada wasn't a government spy," he answered. He studied her again. "I saw the scars on your back when I took off your dress. They're whip lashes."

"It's nothing." She slipped onto the edge of the bed, keeping her back from him. Whipping her had been the least of it. She touched her fingernails. She remembered her nightmare. She gulped.

"I heard stories about what they did to prisoners in those bunkers," he said.

"And I heard stories about what happened in those tunnels." Her words silenced him. "Does anyone ever ask you about them?" When he didn't answer, she said, "Didn't think so.

He didn't say anything. He didn't give her a hard look or even snap back at her. He sensed her pain. He might even foolishly believe he understands. He never would. Tommy wasn't in those bunkers. She stood on shaky knees and said, "I'm better now, so you can go."

Tommy put out his cigarette, yet didn't make to leave. "It isn't Kimber."

"No, it's not."

"Kimber's a weak man," he said. "He isn't smart enough either."

"He has the kit for show," Jane said. "There weren't any medical books and he couldn't name any of the instruments. He has no experienced with bodies."

"He also drinks and abuses cocaine," Tommy added.

"Copycat doesn't partake in those things. They'd dull his senses."

"He doesn't have any sort of handicap that'd make him undesirable to women."

"They also flock to him because of his money."

Tommy paused. "Your killer might have money. Maybe he doesn't have a disfigurement at all."

"Go on…"

"We could be looking at this wrong. He might be someone that attracts these women. He'd be the sort they'd run to because he offers them more. He already has drugs, which are hard to come by for poor women. He might've promised them something. Maybe offer more money or protection."

"Protection…" Jane thought for a moment. She gripped her knees, "He'd be somebody in a powerful position-"

"-Somebody who arrived around the time the killings started-"

"-Who isnt interested in the deaths of poor women-"

"-He'd try stopping your investigation-"

"Chief Inspector Campbell," they said in unison.

"There's also his work in Ireland."

"His work?"

"Before he came here, he was rounding up the IRA in Belfast. They charged him with stomping them out as much as he could, and he succeeded to a point. He used to torture and beat men to death for information," he said. "They'd find them in the river the next day when he finished."

Jane's fists clenched. Campbell seemed a likely candidate. Looking down at the evidence, a common criminal or gangster couldn't commit these murders. This was the work of someone with skill. Copycat knew what he was doing and he did it well. Campbell had enough experience and cruelty to carry them out. Perhaps Belfast gave him a taste for blood and now he wants more.

"It makes sense," Jane said. "He wasn't very happy when I said I wouldn't help him. It could've been a misdirection tactic. He'd keep me preoccupied with the guns so that I wouldn't be looking into the murders so much."

"Too bad you proved him wrong."

"I think I proved a lot of his assumptions wrong."

"I know you certainly did it to mine," he said, standing up.

Jane turned to him. He was beautiful. She wouldn't deny that. He'd seen her. He discovered her pain and wasn't appalled. He didn't try coddling or comforting her because there'd be no use. Tommy might not know what happened, but he knew it'd hurt her. Nothing she did faze or intimidated him. Tommy battles his own demons. The dark circles under his eyes told her as much. It didn't stop him from caring about hers.

"You liked her, didn't you?" she leered.

"Liked who?"

"The ditzy, sexy kitten. You liked her."

He moved closer to her. "No, I didn't. I prefer the bold, brilliant detective."

He'd left her breathless. The chill on her skin vanished under his warmth. She never expected it from him. She suddenly felt relaxed and warm in his company. His lips were only inches from hers. He could kiss her right now. He should kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her.

"Are you going to kiss me now, Mr. Shelby?" she whispered.

"If only you'll let me, Ms. Dawes."

Jane grinned at him. A hint of a smile came on his face, and he cradled her cheek. Their lips met in a small peck. A short, sweet gesture, Tommy didn't go any further than a lingering kiss. She held her breath as if she'd plunged into water. She released it once he let go of her. She couldn't think of what to say to him. For once, Jane was speechless. She only let him rub her cheek with his thumb.

"Bold and brilliant enough for you?" she finally asked.

"More than enough."

Rapid knocking came from the door suddenly. Tommy tore himself from her and answered it. "Jane! Jane!" Harry panted, leaning against the door, "You gotta come! There's been another murder!"

* * *

Jane arrived at a side street not far from Garrison Lane. Blocks were already places in the front of the street so nobody could enter. She spotted someone right away.

"Ms. Dawes!" Gerald Irons appeared on the scene again with a cameraman beside him taking pictures. "Ms. Dawes! Is it him?! Has the Alleyway Butcher struck again?!"

"No comment, Mr. Irons."

"You have to give the public something, Ms. Dawes!" He noticed Tommy behind her, "Are you two working together on this?! Is this gang related, Mr. Shelby?!"

Neither of them answered his questions and Jane shielded her face from his cameraman. Jane and Tommy walked past the blockade and into the damp alleyway. In a small resting point, she saw the body. A brunette slashed in the same fashion as the others. Jane imagined she'd find a five-penny on her as well. Moss stood nearby giving orders to his men as someone began taking evidence photos.

"Evangeline Williams," Moss said before she could ask, "Factory worker."

Jane bent down over Evangeline. She was so young. She couldn't have been older than twenty. She felt nothing but pity for her. Jane discovered the same marks up her nostrils as the others. They were consistent with the last victim's making her also an opium abuser. The five-penny glittered inside the throat slashes. She didn't need a medical examiner to see what he took. There was emptiness where the stomach is normally located. The severed intestines implied it.

"One of your men found her, Mr. Shelby," Moss told Tommy. "He said he was patrolling the street like you asked him to. It was that black fellow, the preacher."

"Jeremiah," Tommy nodded. He looked down at Jane, "I'll talk to him. He'll tell me if he saw anything."

"Because why bother with the police?" Moss said irritated. "I mean, we're the law around here. I don't see why nobody is running to us when this happens." He turned to Jane, "They'd rather talk to you than me or my men. I can understand maybe Campbell, but you?"

"Don't forget, Sergeant," Jane said, "You're the one that hired me."

"Because you said you'd stop him. He's killed three more since you've been here," he said. "When do you plan on capturing him? When he starts knocking off the higher ups in this town?" His eyes glanced at Tommy. "I don't understand why my men suddenly can't be trusted. I had to call in a supposed specialist because nobody would fucking talk to me."

Moss stormed off before anyone said responded. Jane found this turnover odd. Sergeant Moss always seemed so eager to help. He'd cared about his town. Now he regretted hiring her.

"I agree with the Sergeant, funnily enough." The smell of tobacco told her Campbell came onto the scene. He stayed a few feet away from the body, smoking his pipe and looking smug. "For someone so renowned, you haven't been effective."

Jane crossed her arms, "And you have?"

"Not as much," he said, "But at least I'm getting somewhere. I told Moss he should have sent you back to London. Women are too sensitive for things like this."

"If anyone is sensitive, it's you, Inspector," Tommy said before she could. He walked towards him, hands in his pockets, "Where were you when all these murders were going on? Surely, even a lawman like you should be at least a tad worried? He's not killing simple prostitutes anymore. He's killing hardworking women supporting their families. Doesn't that worry you, Inspector?"

"There's more where these came from," he said, nodding to Evangeline's body. "From what I've seen, he isn't done yet, Mr. Shelby."

"And you'd know that?" Jane asked, coming up to them, "Because you're so experienced in murder? We know about your work in Belfast. Good Catholic men used to disappear in the night and turn up dead the next morning. I heard some gruesome things they endured. You were behind it, they said."

"It'd be a shame if Mr. Irons learned about it," Tommy said. "Everyone knows the papers like to twist the facts around."

He emptied his pipe and said, "You two ought to be careful where you tread. You both aren't as impenetrable as you believe."

"And neither are you," Jane said.

He left the street and the men let him pass. She watched him leave before saying, "He knows something. He knows and he's not telling us."

"I'm sure there's a lot he keeps hidden," Tommy said.

"Do you still have cops on your payroll?" she asked.

"One or two. He dismissed the ones he knew were taking bribes," he answered.

"Can they look into him?"

"What should they be looking for?"

"Whatever they can find out about Belfast," she said. "Anything they can find that would link him to this."

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

For a moment, she wished they'd stayed in her room. Tommy's warmth beat the biting cold any day of the week. She shook off the feeling and returned to the body. Kimber definitely didn't do it now. His victims were girls who couldn't fight back. These women could. Jane spotted the odd position of Evangeline's mouth. Jane pulled on her gloves and pried the lips apart. Rather than see a tongue, she saw a severed stub. He'd removed her tongue as well. Stomach and tongue. Two more parts often taken from animals.

"Why are you taking them?" she asked herself. "Are you eating them? Preserving them? You don't take organs without intent. Nothing you do is thoughtless, Copycat."

' _Give me something,'_ she begged. Moss's angry words became worrisome. He'd been right. She hadn't done much to stop Copycat. She'd only been gathering information. Yet, how can she stop someone she can't see? Like in the dream, he was a nameless, faceless shadow. Tommy crouched beside her and said, "It's not your fault."

"It is," she said. "He isn't bothered by me being here. He's killing and he knows nobody will stop him. I have done nothing to help these people." She was running in circles. Every victim was almost like the last. "He's mocking me now," she said. "He's saying 'look I can kill and you can't catch me fast enough'. They're both right. I can only tell people to 'stay safe' and girls have to remain indoors. That's impossible in a slum. Women need to eat too. Look at her, Tommy. She's so young. She had a life. I could've saved that if I didn't waste time chasing dead ends."

"There is one thing you can do," he said.

"And what is that?"

"You confront him," he answered. "Irons is right over there. Like you said, everyone reads the papers."

Jane looked over her shoulder at the anxious reporter. She nodded at Tommy and moved towards Gerald Irons of the Evening Dispatch.


	12. Chapter 12

" **ALLEYWAY BUTCHER EXCLUSIVE!"**

"Last Monday Evangeline Williams became The Alleyway Butcher's sixth victim. Killed in the same fashion as the others, police are reluctant to release details of the crime. Rumors about police protection, government interventions, and even cannibalism still spread. But this reporter had the pleasure of sitting down with one of the lead detectives. Jane Dawes, daughter of Commissioner George Dawes, is a private London detective. She was sought after by Small Heath Police a month ago. This past night, Ms. Dawes and I sat down to set the record straight.

'We found traces of opium powder on the victims' noses. I theorize that he drugs his victims before killing them," she informed me. "He cuts them open from throat to sternum. Then he removes the reproductive and functioning organs.' I asked what he might be doing with these organs, to which she replied, 'He's consuming them. He needs them, Mr. Irons.'

Everyone has their theories about The Alleyway Butcher and his motives. Ms. Dawes believes he lacks imagination. 'He removes their female organs because he is mirroring Jack the Ripper,' she said. ' Our butcher isn't a creative man. I mean, he's ripping off somebody else's work.' The Butcher has since jumped from prostitutes to working class women. Ms. Dawes believes he's trying to break from his influence. 'And he's failing miserably.'

Ms. Dawes does ask the public be cautious when walking the nighttime streets. People must stay on crowded streets or remain within massive groups. The Butcher, she says, blends in with the people. Several readers believe he's a butcher or fisherman, but she denied these claims. 'No,' she said, 'A butcher or a fisherman couldn't commit such a crime. It is someone with power over these women or the public in general.'

I asked if the detective had any words for The Alleyway Butcher. 'I do, as a matter of fact. If The Butcher does read this, I want him to know he is a coward. He hides in the shadows like a rat. He can't even subdue a woman on his own. He's weak and pathetic. Once I will stomp out–"

"You really do have some balls, Jane."

Harry wiped down the bar as Jane read the article. Irons' article printed in the morning edition overnight. He seemed too eager for the exclusive. The Evening Dispatch is desperate for news, he'd told her. The police give them nothing of substance, and people deserve the truth. Jane only gave them half. Copycat wouldn't like someone calling him a coward. She'd be waiting for it. The article continued suggesting all the terrible things Copycat might be. One thing was certain, butchers and fishermen could rest easier now.

"I needed to do it, Harry," she said. She folded the paper and set it aside. "I needed to contact him somehow. There's no better way than the newspapers. I can't stop him unless I talk to him." She addressed him, "Any news from Freddie?"

"Only a tidbit," he said. He slid over a folded paper. "He says that he's coming back to Birmingham. He wants to meet with you. He says it's important."

Jane opened the paper and read, 'Meet me at the docks tomorrow night. Our friends are talking and it's not about guns.'

"I'll meet with him then," she said.

"What's on the agenda until then?" he asked. He poured her a drink, which she only cradled.

"I'm going to visit the Sergeant," she replied. "He can help me with the Inspector. He talks to him more than anyone."

"From what's been going around," Harry said, "You're not his favorite person right now."

"Doesn't matter. I can't catch his man if he doesn't talk to me. But first, I have to talk to the preacher."

Jane thought Moss's behavior odd. He'd never been so harsh. Then again, she hardly knew him. Being a lawman of a slum must not be easy. Nobody trusted him enough. But did she blame them? No. A majority of his forces are paid off by Tommy or turn a blind eye to their businesses. There was no real justice in Small Heath. Jane would change that if she could.

Jane left Harry in the bar as she began searching Garrison Lane. Tommy said Jeremiah usually preached around town. She walked around for a while before coming upon him alongside the canal. He strode downwards, bible in his hand and speaking. "Please, please pray for the lost lives of these young women. Pray they find peace in the arms of The Almighty." Jane wished she could say that no amount of preaching would help. He caught her coming towards him and stopped.

"You're Jane," he said, his voice hinting Caribbean origins.

"I am," she replied. "You must be Jeremiah," she shook his hand. "Tommy told me I should talk to you about the other night."

"He said you'd find me," he told her. "Walk with me, please."

The two of them began strolling down the canal side. "You said you saw him," she spoke, "Is that true?"

"It is," he nodded. "I was walking home from church when I came across him and the girl."

"What did you see? Everyone says that he's a tall man in a coat and hat. Nobody's seen a face." Jane hoped he'd seen a face.

"That much is true," he agreed. "I wish I could say I did see his face," he answered. "He had his back turned. Yes, he was tall with broad shoulders. He wore a peaked cap and a coat. Honestly, he could be any man walking these streets right now," he gestured to those around him. "There was something else I saw," he rifled around in his pocket before pulling out a ring. "He dropped this when he ran away from me."

Jane picked up the ring. They passed a docked boat, so they turned into the street. A blood stained ring sat in the palm of her hand. It was small and thin, likely for a child or teenager than an adult. "It could've been Abigail's."

"That's what I asked her family," he said. "They said she didn't own any kind of jewelry. I'm thinking this belonged to him."

She then saw the ring's inscription across the outside. Wiping it with her glove she read the cursive engraving. 'God sees you'. "God sees you?" Jane studied the ring in her hand, turning it over as if the answer would come to her. "The phrase is normally 'God sees all'."

"It is. He watches over all his children," Jeremiah added. "I thought the giver wanted to comfort him?"

"No," she shook her head, "It's more than that. They wanted to steer him of wrongdoing. Religious people tell their children this to scold them. If you sin, God will see you. Killing is a sin. He knows God will watch him kill."

"And he doesn't fear it," he added. "He kills and kills and kills because he is destroying God's creations. Whatever made this man lose his faith struck him hard."

"A lot of people lost their faith in God after the war," she said.

"And many gained faith when they returned home," he said. "They attribute their survival to Him. Didn't your husband feel the same?"

"I don't have a husband," she answered. "But I suppose I could sympathize. I never believed in God; that was my grandmother's department. I find it hard to believe in something I cannot see."

"But that's why we must have faith in our Lord," he grinned. "If we could see God, then there's no faith. Faith is not only about seeing and touching. It is about trust. The faithful believe you trust Him with your soul once you die. We trust in him to save and protect us. God gives us the gift of life and in turn, we have faith in him."

"Do you think that is what happened here? Copycat could've lost his faith in God or humanity?"

"Very much so," he said "He is sending these women to their maker. He is using the abilities God gave him to hurt rather than heal."

"Heal?"

"You believe he could be a surgeon, no? Tommy mentioned something like that to me when he visited. Surgeon's have the gift of healing. They relieve people of fatal illnesses or deadly tumors. This man, whoever he is, doesn't want to heal. He wants to kill."

"He's definitely putting it to good use," she said. "If God makes us in his image, I wonder what he had planned when he made him."

"It is not up to The Lord what we do with ourselves. It is why he gave us free will. For instance, God blessed you with several gifts, Ms. Dawes. Whether you believe in Him or not, you have a clear mind and a sharp eye. He gave you the tools to seek out truth and justice. God gave you that. It was you that chose to use them."

"If that is true," she said, "Then his plans for Copycat were horrendously destroyed."

"Unfortunately, that might be true." He paused, "I read the papers today. I worry he might put his tools to use again."

"He might."

* * *

She walked into the police station later that day. Knocking on the Sergeant's door, she found him sitting at his desk. He glared at her the moment she entered.

"Sergeant…"

"You said you'd give me results," he said. "You said you'd catch him. Ever since you got here, you've been boasting about how you're going to find him. In truth, you haven't done a single fucking thing that's helpful in any way. First, you steal a dead body, then you start a bar fight with a suspected IRA member. Now you've called him out in the papers." He tossed the latest edition on his desk. "For such a great detective, you don't seem to get far."

"Well, I am dealing with a man who disappears into thin air," she replied. "Sergeant, I know you're upset." She sat down in front of him, "I imagine dealing with a stolen shipment of guns and having a killer on the loose is rough. He isn't leaving any clues behind, but I have new information that may help."

"Which is?"

"He grew up in a religious household," she said, "Or might even be himself. Tell me Sergeant, is Inspector Campbell a religious man?"

"I suppose," he said, "Lots of good men are. Is he one of your suspects?"

"At the moment," she nodded. "He's definitely the personality type and hasn't shown much kindness to women. From what I've heard about Belfast, he isn't a stranger to violence either. It does put him under suspicion for now."

"He won't like that," Moss told her.

"I don't care what he doesn't like," she answered. "He's at the top of my list."

"You sure this isn't because of Tommy Shelby?"

"Sorry?"

"You two have been awfully chummy lately," he smirked. "How do I know you're not blaming the Inspector because of him? Campbell's had his eye on Shelby about those missing guns. What if this is your way of getting rid of the problem, eh?"

"I can assure you, Sergeant," she leaned in, "If I wanted to help Tommy Shelby, I wouldn't need to blame anyone."

"And the papers? What about what you said to that reporter?"

"The paper will draw him into the light. He won't stand public humiliation," she said. "He'll send a message that he isn't a coward, which means he might slip up. Emotions get the better of someone like him."

"So, you're going to let another woman die because you provoked him?"

"I was hoping you and your men could help me patrol his hunting ground."

"This man killed two women on crowded streets!" he said. "He slipped away without anyone seeing him! What makes you think we'd catch him this time?"

"We'll know where to look now," she answered. "Before we had no idea where he was hunting. Now we do. He tends to kill around the south side of town. It's possible he lives in that area."

"So you think you can just cut him off, do you? Think you're so bloody smart that it might work?"

"I do," she said.

He scowled, "I never understood women like you."

"Sorry?"

"You all think you're so damned special because your daddy has money," he spat. "You get to do what you want with no consequence. Nobody can refuse you. You better hope this half-assed scheme of yours works this time, or I'm taking you off the case!"

Jane studied him. She saw the glimmer of sweat across his forehead. He tried concealing his trembling hands by holding on to his chair. "Have you been drinking, Sergeant?"

He glared, "None of your bloody business. Get out now. Go out there and bring me back something worth caring about."

"As you wish, sir," she said.

Jane walked out of his office unsettled. She hadn't cared for his words, but instead the anger behind them. He'd dramatically changed the subject all throughout their conversation. He didn't stay on one topic very long. He almost couldn't. She guessed the liquor was the enabler there. Copycat should be responding soon. Whether he did this with another body or something personal remained to be seen.


	13. Chapter 13

Everything stayed still and silent in the dimness of lantern lights. Empty boats bobbed up and down in the steady waters. She passed dark warehouses and factories. All the workers went home for the evening, but she spotted one or two late nighters. In the distance, she spotted a figure standing at the edge of a dock, a cigarette cloud in front of him. She'd replied to his letter with a stern warning against returning. As much as he loved Ada, coming back at the moment wasn't right. Harry told her Tommy would kill him if he stepped in Small Heath again. Nobody likes hearing their unwedded sister is pregnant. Though, she knew Freddie wouldn't heed her words.

"Is it true?" he asked right away. He turned and faced her, "Is it true what you wrote? Ada's having a baby?"

"Yes," she nodded. "It's true. News travels fast in pubs. They're saying it's yours."

"Of course it's mine," he chuckled. "Who else would it be?"

"You were gone a while, Freddie."

"Ada's not like that," he said. "She'd never do that to me."

Believing in things like love was difficult. She personally never believed it herself. It seemed ludicrous in a sense. Yes, she loved Vivian. She loved her parents. In some way, she even loved Arnold. But the idea of two people being "destined" for each other was ridiculous. Yet, seeing the certainty in Freddie's eyes, she believed in his love. "Tommy's not going to be happy you're back," she said. "I heard he warned you to stay away."

"I'm not afraid of him," he replied. "I love Ada. That child is mine and I'm not abandoning them. He can kill me if he likes. I won't leave."

"You'd have to marry her," she said. "Then Tommy can't say anything about it. He shouldn't have a say in the first place. But, men like Tommy aren't brushed off so easily."

Freddie scoffed, "He's stubborn. He's always been that way." He finished off his cigarette and flicked it into the water. "Anyways," he moved in closer, "I asked you here for more important matters."

"Such as?"

"Our little Irish friends," he answered. "I've heard some chatter since being in London. Your sympathetic friend had visitors a few nights ago. Of course, I thought it'd be one of his IRA comrades. I heard them talk about the guns for a while. The IRA plans to buy them from Tommy and send them to Liverpool. They were asking for help shipping them overseas."

"And?"

"They talked about the guns for a bit, but there wasn't much to that conversation. The visitors seemed to know a lot about the shipment and was delivering a status report on them. They were making arrangements about where they'd meet when they got them. I didn't listen at first, but then I heard them mention the murders," he said. "They said the murders have been keeping the police busy. They've been keeping _you_ busy."

"Why would they care if I'm busy or not?"

"They think you might know something about the guns," he said.

"I don't."

Freddie gazed at her unconvinced, "You're telling you haven't figured it out yet? That Campbell is wasting his time asking you?"

She sighed defeatedly, "I do know about them. It didn't take a lot of effort, of course. Have you seen Danny while you're in London?"

He grinned, "I have. He's doing exactly what I am. He's informing what he hears to Tommy."

"I suppose faking death has some benefits," she said. "Nobody will come looking for him."

"But the IRA are looking for those guns," he told her. "They think you're helping him hide them. They'll try getting the information out of you. Trust me, you don't want them trying. People have ended up in pretty bad shape for not helping them."

Jane's thumb traced her fingernails. "That's nothing new," she then said. "Why would they think I'm in on it?"

Freddie studied her a moment. She felt him reading her. He nodded and said, "They know you know where they are. They know the Inspector's asked for your help several times," he said. "Also, the fact you and Tommy are together a lot doesn't help. They know he's the one who really hired you. They think it has to do with the guns."

"Then explain why I was asking Maguire about the murders instead of the guns?"

He scoffed, "They believe you're using the murders as a cover up."

"They do know how ridiculous they sound, right?" she said. "They must be desperate for that shipment if they're willing to involve me. Yes, I could easily slip to Campbell where the guns are, but I won't."

"Why?" he raised an eyebrow.

Jane hesitated. Perhaps the thought of Campbell's smug smile irritated her? Maybe hearing his boasts about an undeserved victory bothered her? She used every reason in the book to hide the one lingering around. "I'm not interested in them," she lied. "I like watching Campbell run around like a chicken with its head cut off. It's quite amusing."

Freddie chuckled, "Alright. Yeah, let's go with that." He pulled out another cigarette and lit it, "Just keep your eyes open, Jane. The IRA is getting desperate and you being a woman is no consequence to them."

They bid each other goodnight and parted ways. Jane wasn't concerned about the IRA. Most of them are in it for the rebellion; not the cause. She wasn't afraid of them. She'd met worse people.

LINE

Jane didn't hear or see any differences in the street the next few days. Tommy's men heard nothing unusual. The police forces didn't see anything out of the ordinary. She thought he would've struck by now. It wouldn't take long before he reached out to her. But, as she stood on a side street, nothing popped out at her. People passed by without noticing her and only their footsteps echoed down the street. In the darkness of the alleyway, nobody spotted her. She thought at first perhaps they simply didn't care for her. Yet, when she stepped out into the light she surprised a couple on their way home. It hit her then. The realization hit her right in the gut. Taking in the winding streets, she stood in the middle of a maze. Only someone who'd lived in Small Heath could navigate their way through unseen. Campbell was a cunning man that stayed in Small Heath as long as her. Of course, he wasn't as clever. He would've lost himself in the streets if he went off them far enough.

The chance of him being Copycat became less likely.

"He isn't going to show," a voice startled her from behind. Tommy lit a cigarette nearby, standing underneath a street lantern. "Your article was only printed two days. He hasn't had enough time to stew."

"He'll come out eventually," she said. "I told Moss and his men to keep a look out on their patrols. Yours are doing the same. He might not come tonight, but he will come."

"My men have been doing that since before you arrived," he said. He inhaled the end of his cigarette and exhaled. "It's nothing new." His eyes surveyed her. "Come back to the pub with me. It's freezing out here."

"Is that concern I'm hearing in your voice, Mr. Shelby?" she smirked. She hadn't forgotten his lips for a moment. She often thought about their kiss. He'd proven much gentler than he appeared. It stirred something in her she couldn't suppress.

"I just don't want the only detective on this case freezing to death," he said.

She admitted the cold bit at her cheeks. A steady stream of hot breath produced a cloud every time she spoke. He watched her, cigarette smoke passing between his lips. She looked over his sharp features and peaked cap. She saw the hint of a razor blade sewn in the seam. It didn't scare her. Nothing about his frightened her one bit. She gravitated towards him. Simply standing near him pushed away the chills. Tommy offered her a cigarette, which she took, and lit it for her. Inhaling the tobacco, she said, "Congratulations by the way. Becoming an uncle must be exciting for you."

"You heard then?"

"About Ada becoming pregnant and you chasing the father out of town? Yes, I did, "she said. "How could you do that, Tommy?" she then asked, blowing her smoke the opposite direction. "That child needs a father."

"Campbell chased him out of town, not me."

"But you're the reason he hasn't come back," she replied. She wouldn't tell him that Freddie came back not too long ago. Lord knows what would happen if Tommy or Campbell knew. She remembered the love in his eyes and frowned. "I told him about Ada."

"I figured you would," he said. "Keeping Freddie out of town was part of the deal. If Freddie Thorne stayed out of Birmingham, then he's no threat to anyone. There won't be any riots. There won't be a revolution. Freddie can't do anything when he's cooped up in a basement in London. Campbell won't hesitate to take anyone associated with him."

"Including Ada," she added.

He nodded. "I already handled Ada. If she's smart, she'll do the right thing."

Jane knew what 'the-right-thing' meant. She'd heard the term growing up. "You can't expect her to abort the child, do you? The baby is hers. It's her choice whether she-"

"-She wouldn't be doing herself any favors. Bringing a child into the world alone brings nothing but trouble."

"She wouldn't be alone. She would have the family."

"You know what they'd call her if she did have it," he said. The two of them looked at one another. Jane knew he was right. She knew many girls branded 'whores' for their unplanned pregnancies. Their children became 'bastards'. Even when they wedded, nobody looked at them the same. He gave a puff of his cigarette, and then said, "It's best to get rid of the problem before it gets worse."

"Don't be surprised when he comes back." She couldn't tell him.

Tommy stared at her, "Did he tell you he was?"

"No," she said. "But I'm sure once he hears Ada is pregnant, he'll come running back."

"If he knows what's best, he'll stay away instead," Tommy said. He shortened the space between them, "Now, let's go back to the pub. I'll buy you a drink."

Her eyes glimpsed his lips. She wanted to kiss him. They'd snuff out the bitter cold in a second. She'd never wanted anything so badly. She didn't want just his lips or tongue. She wanted his closeness. She wanted his comfort. He cradled her jaw, the smooth glove chilling her cheek. Staring into his eyes, she knew he wanted the same. "Would there be any point in telling you my true purpose here tonight?" he asked.

She giggled, "No, there wouldn't be."

Her back pressed into the wall. Their bodies became one and suddenly she became breathless. Her hands rested on his shoulders while his rounded her waist. The cold couldn't touch her now. His lips caressed her easily, making her melt right in his arms. Jane never experienced a kiss like this. She'd kissed all kinds of men. She'd had good ones and bad ones. Yet, none of them created butterflies or sparks. They'd been for pure lust. This wasn't lust. This was something else. She could feel it in every touch and peck he gave her. It sent sparks to her brain and butterflies in her stomach.

"HELP ME! SOMEBODY PLEASE!"

The couple broke away at once. Jane listened for the screams, moving eastward towards a wooden fence. Her heart skipped beats. The cold air dried up her throat. She could already imagine Him. The thought of him taking another propelled her towards the sounds. She rifled through her handbag for the revolver. She would get him now. He couldn't get away. She heard the screams cut short just as she reached a courtyard between four buildings.

There he was. Large, wearing a dark coat, he stuffed his instruments into a bag. The opening fence door alarmed him. He was going to run. Jane lifted the gun and said, "Stop right there!"

Hiding his face beneath a cap, Copycat rushed away for an alleyway. She and Tommy fired rounds at him. Yet, he dodged them with ease. She might as well have shot a shadow. In his wake, he left a young girl.

"I'll get him," Tommy said, "You stay here with her."

There wasn't any time for argument. He took off after Copycat while she removed her scarf. The girl still kicked and gurgled. He'd only slashed her once. This, sadly, did not stop the immense blood flow down her neck. Jane tied her scarf around the wound. Her hands shook seeing the girl's face become paler by the second. She couldn't control her rapid breathing. Wide eyes searched for life within this woman.

"Someone help!" she screamed up to the buildings. "Somebody go get help!"

People started opening their windows and gasping at the sight. A man came out from his house and told her he'd sent his son for help. Nobody moved towards them. They all stood in shock as the girl struggled for life. She clutched Jane's arm and tried speaking.

"Don't speak," Jane said, "That'll only make things worse. Stay still and we'll wait for help, okay? You'll be alright, love. You'll be okay. Help will come and you'll be okay." Believing her words was difficult. She knew better than anyone that wasn't true. She kept a hold on the scarf, the blood staining her palms. The heavy scent of iron and lead touched her nose. The girl's coughs and sputters filled her ears. There was nothing she could do for her. Jane never felt so helpless. "This isn't your fault, okay? This is mine. This is my fault. I-I-You're here because of me. I'm going to get you help and you'll be okay. You have to be okay."

Ambulance sirens blared throughout the streets. She looked up to see ambulance men running towards them with a stretcher. One of the ushered Jane away from the girl as they lifted her onto the stretcher. People watched the scene in horror. Policemen entered the courtyard and formed a perimeter. The men carted the girl away quickly. Watching the ambulance drive off, Jane already felt their eyes on her. She could feel the accusations burning into her skin. She didn't object. She didn't try proving innocence or defending herself. She provoked this incident. Yes, Copycat would've struck again, but she'd been so sure she'd catch him in time. She was wrong. Looking to the cobbled ground, a shiny object stood out in the mud and dirt. She wiped the mud off it and discovered a penny. She grasped it tightly in her hand. A pang of anger hit Jane's chest. This game of cat-and-mouse was becoming tiresome.

Jane put the penny in her pocket and walked away. Their eyes followed her out of the courtyard and she didn't blame them. She should visit the hospital.


	14. Chapter 14

"Her name was Molly Brighton," the doctor said.

'Was'. The worst word a doctor could say to someone. Jane listened to his report on the surgery. Molly hadn't survived her wounds as predicted. The laceration went from one side to another, slicing the vocal chords. He said the blood loss alone killed her. Nobody could survive a cut to the jugular. Jane's guilt worsened with every word. She knew better than to expect anything else. A few feet away, a woman sobbed into her husband's arms. The husband gave her an angry glare, which she turned away from. She knew they blamed her. Everyone did and she agreed. Copycat gave her a message and left his mark. He was a sly one. This murder wasn't for passion. He did it to ruin her investigation. Nobody in Small Heath will speak to her after this. She'd receive no help from them anymore.

He'd slipped away from Tommy. He told her he lost him in the sea of streets and alleys. This didn't surprise Jane either. Copycat knew his way around Small Heath. He killed near her so she would know this. He'd proven her wrong again. It couldn't be Campbell. As much as she wished it were, Campbell couldn't hide in the streets. They'd recognize him right away. It only mixed in with the regret in her stomach.

Tommy stood with the family, cool and collected as always. He and the father exchanged a few words, the other man becoming increasingly angrier. He occasionally glanced Jane's way or pointed in her direction. Tommy reassured him justice would come swiftly. After all, Tommy was the law around here. She figured he'd promised to put an end to this monster. He hid his anger beneath cold eyes and a clenched jaw. She knew this angered him as well. Copycat was right at their fingertips, and then they lost him.

"Would you…" the doctor said, "Would you care to examine the body, Detective?"

Jane shook her head. "It's likely there's nothing on her. Let her family bury her in peace."

"Of course," he nodded and left her.

Tommy walked up to her as the doctor left her side. He didn't say anything as he took her by the arm. Pulling her into an empty room, he rounded on her. "You know, for a clever woman you are incredibly stupid," he began. "You go around harping on about how nobody cares about the victims. You haven't done anything to prove you do either. Was that article supposed to 'bring him out'? How did you think he'd come out, Jane? What made you think you could catch him?"

"Tommy-"

"-Now another girl is dead and the family's looking for blood! I had to convince them that I'd set this right!"

"And how do you plan to do that, Tommy?" she replied. "Put a bullet in my head? Cut me?"

"They wanted me to," he snapped. "I told them I'd look into things myself. I'd get them the results they want. They blame you for what happened, and they should! You haven't given them anyone else. These murders have gone on for three months now! You don't even have any solid evidence naming anyone. You have all these theories based on coins and bodies. There's nothing concrete."

"Cases like this aren't solved overnight," she defended. "Look, I'm sorry about this. I'm sorry that girl is dead. It's because of me that this even happened. I thought if he struck, I'd catch the blow before it landed. I-I didn't think-"

"-Think of the possibility that you would lose him?" he asked, fists on his hips. "Because you're so damn clever that you couldn't lose him, right? Because you're 'Jane Dawes, private detective', right? Maybe you're not as smart as you think. A lot of people are starting to think that now."

"Do you think that?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," he sniped. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I thought you'd have this wrapped up by now. You should've left weeks ago. You'd catch him and then I'd carry on with my plans. In case you forgot, you're not the only one with goals here." He began pacing the room, walking out his anger. "I wanted to expand, Jane! I wanted to become legitimate. I didn't take you to Kimber just because I needed a pretty face next to me. I went there so he'd hire the Peaky Blinders as security. He'd see how strong we are. He would see my operations and give me my race track pitch. I wouldn't have to work out of a gambling den anymore. Then when the time was right, I'd strike at him." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't hidden the guns because I want them. I took them because it gave me leverage. I'd tell Campbell where they were if he agreed he'd stay out of my way. I need the police gone when I move in on Kimber."

"How is Copycat ruining that for you?"

He stopped his pacing and turned on her. "Because instead of focusing on my plans," he said, "I've wasted my time running around with you. I could be getting The Lee Family as an ally but instead, I spent my night in a fucking alley! I've wasted my time chasing a man I never intended to chase."

"I'm sorry, Tommy," she whispered. "I never really thought about..." She shifted awkwardly. She played with the clasp of her handbag, and said, "I-I-"

"-Don't say anything," he stopped her. "Please, for once, keep your bloody mouth shut." He paced back and forth, "You've gone too far this time, Jane. I can't help you." He gripped the bars of the bed, not looking at her, "Moss is going to fire you. Go back to London and never come to Birmingham again."

A lump swelled in her throat. She tried ignoring the aching in her chest. If Moss said this to her, she wouldn't have cared. She wouldn't care if it were Campbell scolding her. Yet, hearing Tommy's smooth, deep voice utter these words broke her. She fought back the tears in her eyes. She stood firm and clutched her bag. "Tommy," she said, "I'll make this right. I'll catch him. I promise."

"You've been saying that," he said, "But nothing's come of it, has it?"

"So, you're just going to let a killer run free due to your own ambitions?" she remarked, fighting back the feeling inside. "That's it, isn't it? You're going to give up? Just like that?"

"Moss will handle it."

"The whole reason I'm here is because he couldn't handle it. You knew he couldn't."

"I said, Moss will handle it," he said sternly. "Go home, Jane."

She studied him. His hands tightly grasped the foot of the bed. He kept his eyes closed and faced away from her. "The IRA want to make a deal with me," he finally said. "Byrne came by the pub a while back. He demanded the guns' location or he'd hurt you until I gave it to him."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"There wasn't a reason to," he told her. "We agreed I'd give him the location in exchange for something else."

"What 'something else'?"

Tommy didn't turn to her. He almost couldn't. "That he doesn't come after you. Bryne promised he and his men would leave you be if I told him where I stored the guns. They think we're together, so they threatened you to get to me. They believe you know something and would get it out of you."

She already knew this but didn't tell him. "So, you're giving them up for me?"

"No, I'm not," he answered. "I told Campbell about the meeting. He and Moss will lie in wait for the right moment, then spring on them." He then said, "Which is why you should go. You've done enough here. There's nothing more to do. You've given Moss some evidence to go on for now. He's stretching out his days between kills. If we're lucky, he'll go away on his own. The Ripper did."

"He's not The Ripper. He'll keep on doing this."

"Go home, Jane. I mean it. Leave Birmingham," he finished, turning to leave.

"Tommy," she took his arm, "You know he won't stop. You and I both know men like him. They're never satisfied."

"Jane…" he pulled his arm from her, "You've done enough damage tonight."

"But he's done much more," she said. "He killed Molly. He will kill someone else. He doesn't care anymore. He's going off pattern, Tommy. If you just gave me more time, then I can find him. I already narrowed it down. He's a religious man who's had the wrath of God engrained in him. He's a man in a position of power. He has a bit of money and knows where to buy drugs. People aren't afraid of him during the day, but they are at night. He can hide in a crowd. He's a local. He's skilled in cutting up bodies. He might've learned it at a young age. Tommy, I know things about him, but I need more time."

"Time's run out, Jane," he said. "Moss can handle it from there."

"Moss doesn't know shit! He hired me because you saw how useless he was! Now you trust his judgment?"

"I don't, but I trust my own," he replied. "I know the people in this town. I know where to look. You don't."

"You can help me."

"I've been helping you and look where it's gotten me," he said. "Nowhere," his words stung like salt in a wound. "Goodbye, Jane."

"Tommy, please…"

He left her alone in the room. The silence thickened and she gulped at the lump in her throat. He'd been right. She truly had nothing. Her "theories" weren't certain. Her bit of evidence only spoke whispers of truth. She'd solved The Diamond Boys case in two weeks. The Devil Cult Murders in a month. She solved dozens of missing persons and home invasions in a week. Yet, this case dragged on for three months. Copycat constantly gave her the runaround. It sickened and tired her. She would catch him, but it was a matter of when. He'd only continue killing until she caught him. He is an unstoppable force and she was the moving object. She'd bash and bash and bash into him, and get nothing in return. Now, Tommy told her to go. He thought of her as the rest did: all talk and no bite. His loss of faith burned deeply inside her.

She finally exited the room. Molly's parents occupied the room next door. Their silhouettes hit in the curtain and concealed the body. The mother's cries only hardened. She'd heard similar cries a year ago. Her mother bawled over her in France. She prayed for Jane's life between sobs. Jane could hear her father shouting at Arnold for letting her leave home. They blamed him for her condition. They never considered that she'd consented. Arnold let it slide off his shoulders as he did with everything. Yet, she sometimes caught him frowning when she rubbed her fingernails.

* * *

She sighed heavily as she packed up the last of her belongings the next morning. Despite wishing to stay, a part of her longed for London. She missed her books. She missed Mrs. Phillips's homemade biscuits. The sights and sounds of London seemed like distant memories now. Vivian and James would be happy to see her. She might even tolerate a visit to her parents; perhaps discuss the case with her father. There was no point staying in Birmingham. People turned their backs and closed their doors to her questions. Nobody even glanced her way downstairs anymore. They wouldn't forgive her for what happened to Molly. She took it without a fight. She knew the only way she'd gain their trust is by finding Copycat.

According to Tommy, Moss had it under control. He never said how. He simply said he did.

Going back to her desk, she picked up her pen and finished her letter. _"You've been a great help to me here in Birmingham, Freddie. Here's a wedding present. Use it wisely._

 _-Jane"_

She put the money and letter in an envelope and sealed it. Snapping her suitcase closed, she exited her room for the last time. Jane hated feeling so heavy. She hated admitting she didn't solve every case that came her way. There'd been a few who slipped out from under her. Unfortunately, this would be one of them. Walking down the stairs, she found Harry at his usual post. She watched him wipe down the bar, hoping he'd say something first.

"I'm kinda disappointed in you, Jane," he said without looking at her.

"Because of Molly Brighton?"

"And because you're giving up so easy," he added. "In the three months you've been here, you've shown you never back down from anything. When you caught a scent, you tracked it down like a bloodhound. You never backed out regardless of the odds."

"And this bothers you?"

"It's surprising, is all. I thought you would tell Tommy to stuff it and keep on working the case."

"I don't stay where I'm not wanted, Harry."

"And since when did you care about where you're wanted?" he looked up at her. "I'd never seen you simply give in to a man's demands before. I didn't think you'd actually listen to him."

"Nobody here will work with me," she told him. "Not even the Sergeant will help me. How can I catch him if I don't know anything about him?"

"You do know things about him."

"Simple things."

"But it's something," he said. "You can use that to like narrow it down or something like that? Isn't that what detectives do? They find out information and then weed out whoever doesn't fit?"

"I can't find anyone who matches the profile I made," she said. "I can't if nobody will point me in the right direction. It's as if suddenly people trust the police to do their job right. They'll just arrest the first bloke they catch. I'm sorry, Harry. There's no point in me staying anymore. I'm going to give Moss what little evidence I have and let him work it from there." She slid money over to him, "Hand this to Freddie if you see him. Goodbye, Harry."

"I'll take it," he said, "But I won't say goodbye. You'll be back."

"You sound certain."

"I'm a bartender. I know how to read people too."

Jane grinned at him and exited the tavern. She took in the rest of Small Heath as she walked towards the police station. The streets remained empty in the early morning, which made the cold worse. She turned onto Watery Lane. Already, she spotted men and boys entering and exiting his house. The gambling business starts early, she supposed. For a moment, she'd thought about going inside. She imagined Tommy in his office, smoking and reading a newspaper. He'd turn his head and see her in his doorway. Would he kiss her? Would he smile? She already knew the answer and it only hurt more. He'd put faith in her and she let him down. The space between them would only be cold and empty. That coldness wouldn't be her last memory of him. Jane pulled up her collar and moved onward past #6 Watery Lane.

The police station hustled and bustled as usual. A majority of the men there hardly noticed her, but she caught an eye or two. At the front desk sat the same curly-haired young man from her first day.

"Um, he-hello Ms. Dawes," he straightened up his uniform and slicked back his hair. "How can I, um, help you?"

"Is Sergeant Moss here?" she asked. "I'd like to speak with him."

"I-I don't know, Miss. I only just got here. I can show you to his office if you'd like," he said.

Jane decided she'd humor him. "That'd be nice, Officer…?"

"Owens, ma'am," he said with a smile. "Please, this way."

Owens led her down the bull pit towards Moss's office. Already she could see Moss wasn't there. She would've found it odd on any other day. Due to his shaking hands, sweaty brow and sudden rages, Moss must be sleeping off his drink.

"Owens?" she asked as they reached the door, "How has Moss been lately? I understand he's taken to drinking."

"Yes," Owens affirmed, "He's fallen off the wagon again."

"Off the wagon?"

"He'd promised himself he'd stop drinking, ma'am," he explained as he turned the knob. "He'd always enjoyed a drink like any other man, but the war…" he sighed, "It changed him. It changed the lot of us."

He opened the door and they stepped into the empty office. Moss was obviously not there, but she looked around regardless. "I only meant to give him these," she put the evidence files on the desk. On the corner of the desk, she saw a photograph of Moss, a blonde-haired woman, and a little boy. She smiled, "I didn't know he had a family. He never mentioned them to me."

"He doesn't talk about them much," Owens said. "I grew up with his son, Daniel. He and I even enlisted in the war together."

"Really?"

Owens nodded, "We were in the same battalion during training. Sergeant Moss was head of it, and he trained us both."

"So you're close to the Sergeant then?"

"I am," he smiled. "He's never shown me favoritism though," he said quickly. "I earned my position here just like everyone else."

"I'm sure you did," she agreed. She examined another photograph of Moss and Daniel in front of a tent. She assumed they'd taken it in France. "You must've met his wife then?"

He shook his head, "No ma'am. She died a couple of years before the war. She became ill and they couldn't help her."

"I'm going to take a stab in the dark and assume Daniel never made it home?"

Owens didn't speak at first. He gulped and put his hands behind his back. Jane caught the sullen look on his face. "No…" he said, "No, Daniel died in an ambush. We were riding back to camp after a training exercise. The enemy planted mines along the path so once we hit one, the truck flipped into the air. I was one of the lucky ones," he lifted his sleeve to show a long scar going up his arm, "But a few weren't so lucky. A fire started, of course, and some were badly burned or died on impact."

"Daniel was one of them?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded. "I-I-I tried to help him, ma'am. You have to know that. I tried pulling him out of the fire. Sergeant Moss saved as many of us as he could. He pulled us out one by one and left us on the side of the road. I tried getting Daniel out, but he wasn't moving. He'd died."

Jane, out of her own curiosity, opened the desk drawer. She saw the typical whiskey bottle and glass. There were empty pens, old ink bottles, and a small paper bag. "I'm sure it hit him hard," Jane said, taking out the bottle and glass. "Losing his wife and then his son," she said, "Moss must be alone these days."

"I try being there when I can," Owens then said. "I cared about Daniel too. He was a good friend of mine. I help Sergeant Moss home when he's too drunk to get there. I once brought him food when I heard he wasn't eating. I never had a father growing up, you see, and Moss was always there for me and my mum. So, I care about him, you know?"

Jane lifted the bag out of the dresser. She gasped when she opened it. "Owens…" she met his eyes, "How did Mrs. Moss really die? Being a close family friend, I'm sure you knew the true reason. Daniel would've told you even if he kept it a secret."

Owens shifted his weight around, not directly looking at her. "She…" he coughed, "She was ill, ma'am."

"With what?"

He sighed, "She took drugs." He nodded, "Yes, she had a problem. Most people take to drinking, but Mrs. Moss liked drugs. Daniel often stayed out of the house when she took it. He didn't like seeing his mother sprawled out on their lounge. A lot of people looked down on her for it too. She'd been a lovely woman."

"What happened that changed her?"

"Well, things…" he said, "Daniel told me they were tight on money. Moss only just started here and the pay wasn't that good. Mrs. Moss…" he said, "Mrs. Moss did what all women do to make ends meet. She didn't tell her husband about it."

Jane felt her hands go numb. They dropped the packet without a single twitch. A fine white power spilled out onto the desk and Jane's heart raced. "He must've been angry when he found out."

"He was," he nodded. "Daniel told me his father found her dead in their lounge. He'd buried her himself in their backyard. Daniel told me he didn't see him do it, but that's what they told him."

"Because Moss killed her."

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Owens said in shock. "Sergeant Moss loved his wife. He would've never have hurt-"

"-Where did she get the drugs? Did Daniel know?"

"How would he know? He was a kid! We both were! What are you playing at, ma'am? You shouldn't go saying things like that."

"Has the Sergeant been acting different? And I don't mean because of the whiskey," she said. "Does he seem like a different person? As if he changes overnight?" She recalled his outburst of rage. He'd even insulted 'women like her'. She thought it'd been the drinking.

"I-I-I don't know, ma'am."

"This is opium," she told him, pointing at the powder. "By the looks of this package," she rthrough the papers in the drawer. She didn't stop looking until she found it, "Dr. Lester prescribed it to him. It's not recreational but medical. Dr. Lester gave him this, and I need to know why."

"Ma'am, you really shouldn't be poking your nose where it doesn't belong." Owens reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun. He held it with a shaky hand. She looked at him and caught his fear. His eyes widened and his pupils dilated. She spotted the barrel of the gun slightly shifting around. It wasn't his first time holding a gun, but she felt his reluctance. "Put the gun down, Owens. You don't want to shoot me and you don't have to. Sergeant Moss could be sick. I might know what he's sick with. He's had really quick mood swings, hasn't he? One moment he's himself and the slightest thing changes it?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Does he wake up sometimes and not remember where he'd been or what he did?" she asked.

"It's the drink! He gets drunk!"

"I don't think it's just that," she said. "Owens, if you care about Moss, you'll let me help him. You have to tell me where he is."

"I-I don't know where he is."

"Please Owens," she said. Slowly, she began moving from behind the desk towards him. He didn't fire his weapon. He did not even cock the barrel to use the bullet. "Owens," she gently touched his arm, "You spent five years shooting and killing men. You want to tally up that score again?"

Owens sighed defeated, lowering his gun, "No, ma'am. I'm sorry. I-I only care about him, you know? Yes, he's been acting strange lately. I don't know what he's up to or where he goes, but I've noticed it. It's almost like he's a different person sometimes. I think the whiskey's got something to do with it. When Daniel died, he sort of went off the rails. He was harsh, mean and all around unpleasant. He wouldn't sleep. He wouldn't eat. He…" he hesitated in his words. "He'd visit the local brothel here. Now, I don't judge him for it. I've visited myself. But, I didn't do what he did."

"What did he do?"

"Smack the girls around," he said. "One girl told us he'd called her a 'filthy whore' and a 'lying bitch'. He's quite rough, she said."

Jane's breath hitched in her throat. "No…" she tried shaking the words from her head, "No, no, no! It's wrong! It's all wrong!"

"Ma'am?"

"I've been looking at this all wrong! I should've seen it! I should've known…" she took off her hat. She felt the tension build in her muscles. It tightened quickly, burning like fire. Her mind raced through every bit of information she knew. She gathered it from every corner, compiling everything together. Everything made sense. "I can't believe I didn't see it! The bloody bastard's played me from the start!" she smacked her purse into the bookshelf.

"What do you mean, ma'am?"

"I have to find him! I have to find him before he kills someone! He'll do it again! I know he will! He…" He thinks he's safe with her gone.

Jane straightened her hat and rushed out the door.


	15. Chapter 15

According to the address, Moss lived in a small lodging a little ways from Garrison Lane. His hunting ground wasn't far away. Jane thought of the easy access as she walked up the street. Garrison Lane was the heart of Small Heath. A majority of its debauchery accumulated within the center. Amidst all the drunkards, fighters and prostitutes, nobody would've taken notice to him. He would've worn a coat and peaked hat shielding him from curious eyes. Moss knew he could hide in plain sight. She felt so foolish. Moss lived in Small Heath his entire life. He'd know the place like the back of his hand. He'd have no trouble navigating through the backstreets.

A quick trip to Dr. Lester revealed all she needed. Walking into the clinic's pharmacy, she asked the shop girl if she'd fetch him. The elderly doctor came out and greeted her with a smile. She'd questioned him for some time. He'd appeared reluctant to answer her questions. He told her he didn't give out such confidential information. She insisted. She told him whatever he knew would be important. Dr. Lester sighed heavily as he retrieved Moss's medical files. He claimed Moss was a long-time patient of his. His father often came to Lester for help with Moss's condition. He even consented to treatment.

 _'What treatment?'_

 _'Electric shock, Miss. I told him it might ease the boy's mind.'_

Clearly, it hadn't. Jane asked him when he started prescribing the opium. Lester said after Mrs. Moss's death. The shock took a toll on him, and his condition only worsened. Lester said he'd been suffering from mood swings and blackouts. Moss would wake up one day and not remember what happened the night before. He said his patient also spoke of feeling detached from himself. He felt as if he truly wasn't Anthony Moss sometimes. Lester said the drinking didn't help either. The opium would relax his mind so he'd ease on into sleep. He gave him electric shock treatment, but it never seemed to fully work.

Jane walked up the stairs of the building, finding Moss's home at the end of the hall. Jane read about such a disease before. It was relatively new and limited in research. Sufferers ended up in asylums to unburden the family. When asked how Moss could still be around, Lester said Moss's father chose faith over science. Lester wasn't clear on details, but Moss ended up in a convent for a while. God-apparently-would cure his son. Remembering the ring, she assumed Moss didn't receive a proper treatment.

She picked the lock and opened the door. She coughed when the stench hit her nose. Walking inside, she observed her surroundings. Moss hadn't tidied up his house in a while. He hadn't swept the floor or dusted the furniture. He hadn't washed dishes or clothes. But, that wasn't the smell filling her lungs. Sniffing the air, she tracked the source into the kitchen where it was strongest. Blood stained the counter, seeping into the wooden cracks. He hadn't even put the knife in the sink. He simply left it for anyone to find. Jane didn't touch, but she examined the kidney lying on the cutting board. He'd sliced off a piece, leaving the rest for the flies. Seeing the herbs and the pot on the stove, he clearly wasn't as hungry as he thought. Opening an icebox, she didn't even flinch. Bits of reproductive organs and other parts sat in neat jars behind the doors. He labeled them based on the woman he stole them from. _'He kept them until he could eat them.'_ Based on the scene in the kitchen, Moss didn't have time to clean up.

 _'Dresser drawer wide open,'_ she said looking into the bedroom. _'He was in a hurry.'_ She saw the closet door wide open and several hangers without their clothes. He'd emptied out the bedside table. The uniform was over a chair, but missing the holster. _'He remembered his gun. Naturally, he'd need it wherever he was headed.'_ The bed remained unmade, the sheets turning this way and that. _'Clearly, he had trouble sleeping again. He decided his medication had better uses'._ She found small bowl and pestle on the side table. She swiped the white residue and rubbed it between her fingers. _'He'd ground the tablets. He could disguise it as cocaine if he crushed them.'_

She came back into the lounge where she found the cluttered coffee table. There she found a picture of a burly bearded man with a smaller lump of a boy. She guessed the man was Moss's father. The two of them stood in front of a sign reading _'Moss & Son's Meat Shop'. 'So he had experience with bodies,'_ Jane thought as she passed over it, _'He learned it in his father's shop. Human bodies are no different than pigs.'_ She searched for the kit. She hoped he'd left it behind. _'Don't be silly. He wouldn't leave his prized possession behind.'_

"He ran off."

Jane turned to see Tommy in the doorway. The air felt so thick between them. It was cold and unfeeling. She didn't try fighting it. "I can see he did," she replied, "What tipped him off?"

"He heard I was coming for him," he said.

He put his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, and she suddenly saw it. She spotted the clarity in his eyes. He seemed so sure and confident. Jane glared at him, "How long have you known?"

"Since last night," he confessed. "When I chased after him, I got hold of him a moment. I saw his face."

"Why didn't you say anything? Why did you let him go?!"

"He fought me off," he defended. "At first, I wasn't sure who I'd caught. Anthony Moss would've tried standing his ground or asserting authority. This man only laughed at me. He told me all your work was pointless. He was Jack after all. He always got away, he said."

"He has a split personality," Jane told him. "He has two people in his mind. He has himself and this Jack person. He took drugs to suppress it, but I think his son's death worsened his condition."

"Not to mention what happened to his wife," he added. "What she'd done would make any mans blood boil."

"Maybe even overflow it," she said. "He knew you were on to him then?"

"The Anthony in him did," he sighed. Hands in his pockets, he continued, "He knew I'd come after him for what he did."

"If he even knows what he did," she told him. "I think Anthony hasn't been home in a long time. He won't remember or understand what he's done. There are bits of cloth in the soot over there," she pointed to the fireplace. "He tried burning his clothes. I assume he'd wake up the next morning and realize he'd done something wrong. He might not have known, but he'd want to cover it up either way." She looked at him, "You should have told someone. You should have said it to someone who could actually stop him. Now he's out there. Sure, he'll leave Birmingham, but it doesn't stop him from killing anywhere else."

"I didn't tell anyone because there's nobody to tell," he said. "Campbell couldn't care less about these murders. The police won't arrest one of their own. I would've handled him. You would've been safe."

"What do you mean?"

"You're the only other person who's been following him," he said. "You're the only woman who isn't afraid of him." He came to her, "You should go back to London. You're safer there."

She looked over his face. She gazed into his eyes, "You weren't protecting me from Byrne and the IRA."

"They never threatened you. They asked if you'd attend the meeting, but never mentioned hurting you," he admitted. "I thought it'd be best if you had another reason to leave." He caressed her cheek, "And, as expected, you're still here."

"I planned on going," she said. "I had my ticket and my suitcase," she nodded to it by the door. "I even said goodbye to Harry and Freddie. Then I went to the station and learned the truth. I can't leave now, Tommy. I can't leave knowing he's out there."

"I knew you'd say that," he sighed. "And I suppose there's no point in trying to change your mind?"

"Not this time."

"Then that's it, isn't it?" he said. "How do you plan on finding him?"

"I've told you before, Tommy," she smiled, "Everybody reads the papers."

* * *

It didn't take long for Gerald Irons to run the story. Jane gave him a name and possible whereabouts. She left out the cannibalism and mental illness. People should be warned, not frightened. Throughout the week, people sent in letters or called in claiming they'd seen him out in the streets. Most of them were hoaxes or jokes. Jane saw that many people weren't taking the accusation seriously. Harry told her a lot of people didn't believe her. They knew Moss better than she did. If he was a murdering lunatic, they would've caught on before. Officer Owens tried backing her story, but being a young man, he wasn't taken seriously. They thought him as one of Jane's admirers defending her.

The saving grace was the victims' families. Mary-Anne's mother brought a basket of baked goods. She thanked Jane for seeking out the truth and prayed she found her daughter's killer. Elizabeth's father offered his help, saying he had connections in the police department. If she needed him, she only had to ask. They all tried spreading support through the community. Unfortunately, few believed them. Jane knew they needed an arrest. Yes, she knew who the killer was now, but he was still at large.

"I told you to leave this case alone," her father said over the phone. "What did you plan to do once you caught him? You're not a real detective, Janey. You can't arrest anyone. I doubt you would be able to subdue a man like him."

"If I can prove to the police force that he is guilty," she said, "Then they would have to help. It's their duty as policemen."

"My dear Princess," he sighed, "You know as well as I do many powerful people don't care about duty. If anything, they'd cover it up. They'd discredit your evidence or even destroy it. You'd end up in the madhouse, not Anthony Moss."

"You wouldn't let them do that," she stated. Tommy wouldn't let them either. "Just, please, Dad," she begged, "Would you at least put an alert out? London is close by and crowded. It'd be even easier for him to hide there. You don't have to send search parties or patrols. Just let your men know that there's a murderer out there. Please, Dad?"

"I will do it," he said. "I will help you just this once. You put this killer out of your pretty little mind, and leave it to Daddy. I can get much farther than you can."

"Unfortunately so," she grumbled.

"I thought you'd be more concerned with Inspector Campbell," he said. "Arnold tells me he's not very fond of you."

"Naturally he'd mention me," she said. "Why should I care about him?"

"Well, he's pinned you as a suspect in his investigation too. He thinks you're in cahoots with this Shelby character. Arnold's told me it's about a missing shipment of guns bound for Libya. He's there to snuff out the communists as well. You wouldn't know anything about these guns, would you?"

"Of course not," she lied. "Those guns have never been a concern to me."

"Janey…" he said sternly, "You know better than to lie to your dad."

"I really don't know anything," she said. "If I did, I would've told someone by now."

"Unless," she could almost hear his teasing smile, "You have a soft spot for Mr. Shelby?"

"I don't," she replied. "He's only been helping me with my case. There's nothing between us."

"Of course there isn't," he said unconvinced. "Well darling, I will keep to my word. I will let my men know about Sergeant Moss and have them on lookout. In the meantime, please stay out of trouble. I've been receiving reports about IRA activity in Birmingham. I'd hate for you get mixed up in such affairs."

She thought about Byrne and Maguire, and said, "You know I'm not one for politics. That's always been Arnold's forte."

He laughed, "You two are not as different as you pretend. I've always told your mother you're two halves of the same coin."

"I know, Dad."

"Be safe," he said, "I love you, Princess."

"Love you too, Dad," she responded. "Send Mum my love too."

"Always."

She hung up the office phone and sighed. George Dawes won't allow a madman running through his streets. She knew he'd be as determined as her. Walking back into the bar, the door slammed open immediately. Jane looked and saw Ada Shelby stumbling into the bar. Sweaty and teary-eyed, she searched around the room until she found Jane.

"Jane," she breathed, "You have to find them!"

"Who? Ada, please, sit down," she helped her into a chair.

"Freddie and Tommy! They're going to kill each other! I know they will! Please Jane! You have to find them and stop them!"

"Calm down," she said. "Harry, get me a glass of water, please. Ada," she turned back to her, "Just breathe and relax. Nobody is killing anyone. Tommy and Freddie will work it out, and you have nothing to worry about."

"You don't know them like I do! They're both stubborn bastards! Tommy wants Freddie to leave and Freddie won't leave! He says he's not afraid of him and won't be chased out of his home!"

"Like I said, they'll work it out," she told her, holding her hand. "Tommy and Freddie both love you. I'm sure they'll come to some agreement. Tommy's doing this to protect you and Freddie from Inspector Campbell. The man is quite adamant in looking for your husband. Tommy and him made a deal that Freddie stays out of Birmingham and in return Campbell stays out of his way."

"Oh he's only following his own agenda!" she accused. "He doesn't actually-"

"-Did you know why he kicked me out of Small Heath? Or well, almost did?" When Ada only wiped her tears and sipped the water, Jane said, "Because he wanted to protect me. Moss is out there right now and he'll want revenge for me outing him."

She sniffed, "And you're not scared, are you?"

Jane paused. Deep down, she hated constantly looking over her shoulder. She'd wake up some mornings and expect him to be there. Nightmares of his thin blade and malicious smile filled her dreams. "I am," she admitted. "Of course I am. He's a complete lunatic out for blood. Tommy knows this just as much as I do. He told me to leave because he worried about me. He worries about you. First, you become pregnant out of wedlock. Now, you're on the run with a known agitator."

She chuckled, "Is that what they call him?"

"It's one of the fonder terms," she said. "Ada, he's not going to kill Freddie. Freddie isn't going to kill him. He'll be fine. If anything, you'll both leave again. My friend in London won't mind renting out a room to you both."

She drank more water, "That's nice of you, but no thanks. Freddie's found a place here in Birmingham. He bought it with the money you gave him. Polly gave us money for tickets and place out of here."

"And he didn't use it for that, did he?"

"No," she snarled, "He used it for his 'cause'. We went to London where he met with some of his communist friends. He gave the money to them instead. I just…" she grunted through her teeth, "We have a baby on the way, Jane. We're living in a little hole in the ground. I hate it. I hate being cooped up there for so long. It's not a proper place to raise a child, or even live in for that matter."

"Tommy doesn't know you're here then?"

She shook her head, "He thinks I've left. He's been hunting me down and having people follow me. I hate it. He'll probably ask if you've seen me."

"He probably will," she agreed, "And I'll tell him I haven't."

"Why? Aren't you in love with him or something?"

Jane laughed, "What?"

"That's what people say," she said. "You two are together a lot. I heard Polly saying you're invited to John's wedding too. She was going to tell you today."

"John's getting married? That's pretty sudden."

"Tommy arranged it," she replied. "He wants to ally with the Lee family so he arranged a marriage." She scoffed, "First he kicks me out, then he tries killing his brother-in-law. Now he's choosing people's wives for them. You can excuse it all you like," she told her, "But in the end, Tommy only cares about himself. He only cares about his stupid plans for the top. He was only helping you because his business was suffering. He didn't really care about the girls."

Jane knew the truth behind his motives. She might've tried pushing them away, but Ada was right. "Most of the people here didn't until Moss started killing working class women. You should go home and rest, Ada. A pub isn't the right place for a pregnant woman. I'll walk you home."

She managed getting Ada out of the tavern. It didn't surprise her that Ada spoke badly of her brother. Ada had hoped for a happier response to her marriage to Freddie. She must've thought Tommy might forget the past and embrace his old friend. Yet, they knew better. Jane took Ada to Polly rather than her basement home. Ada took up the lounge armchair, fingers tapping the arm rest and knee bouncing in place. Jane helped Polly in the kitchen.

"I suppose Ada's told you about the wedding?" the older woman asked as she poured water into the pot.

"She mentioned it," she said, "And I'm sorry but I'll have to decline."

"I don't think you really have a choice," she said, grabbing tea cups from a cupboard. "Tommy will demand you be there."

"Tommy might boss you lot around, but he can't boss me."

"Oh really? Then why were you going to leave? Did you make that decision on your own, hm?"

Jane took up the sugar bowl, "I left because there was no point in staying. Tommy didn't want me here and neither did anyone else. I could have done my work from home."

"What changed your mind? Sergeant Moss won't be in Small Heath now. He's probably moved somewhere in Birmingham. You should be searching elsewhere." She poured tea into the cups.

"There's the possibility he is still here," she said, "He is just hiding."

Polly didn't believe her. The chances of Moss still remaining in Small Heath were incredibly slim. If he was smart enough, he'd leave to London or hop on a ship. Jane thought of Tommy the night of Cheltenham. She remembered him before they found Molly. She never felt so close to anyone. Forced into leaving, her heart peeled itself away little by little. The idea of never seeing him again punched her right in the gut. She had no choice but to stay.

They both of the returned to Ada, who still remained anxious in the lounge chair. Polly tried calming her with tea, but Ada wouldn't drink. She worried about Freddie. "He's going to kill him," she said. "I know he is."

"Nobody is killing anyone, Ada," Jane reassured. "I told you, they'd sort it out."

The women began drinking tea, talking about John and his wedding. Jane hoped the conversation would distract her. Ada seemed more interested in Jane's cases. Despite already knowing the details, she asked Jane all sorts of questions. How did she figure this out? How did she deduce that? Ada's nerves slipped away through Jane's stories. She hoped that neither of the men died today. Jane would lose one man, but Ada would lose two.


End file.
